In December people give no thought to the Past or the Future. They thing only of the Present.
Reward is its own virtue.
What is a magazine? A small body of Literature entirely surrounded by advertisements.
Society's the mother of convention.
Youth is a silly, vapid state, Old age with fears and ills is rife, This simple boon I beg of Fate - A thousand years of Middle Life.
Contentment is the result of a limited imagination.