One Should Aim Not At Being Possible

Where Evil Habits Are Once Settled, They Are More Easily Broken Than Mended.

Our Minds Are Like Our Stomaches; They Are Whetted By The Change Of Their Food, And Variety Supplies Both With Fresh Appetite.

The Perfection Of Art Is To Conceal Art.

Whilst We Deliberate How To Begin A Thing, It Grows Too Late To Begin It.

To My Mind The Boy Who Gives Least Promise Is One In Whom The Critical Faculty Develops In Advance Of The Imagination.