In our man-of-war world, Life comes in at one gangway and Death goes overboard at the other. Under the man-of-war scourge, cursesmix with tears; and the sigh and the sob furnish the bass to the shrill octave of those who laugh to drown buried griefs of their own.

One would like to know, what were foes made for except to be used?

Ah, Bartleby! Ah, humanity!

Be sure of this, O young ambition, all mortal greatness is but disease.

I would prefer not to.

Niggards are oftentimes neat.

As in digging for precious metals in the mines, much earthy rubbish has first to be troublesomely handled and thrown out; so, in digging in one's soul for the fine gold of genius, much dullness and common-place is first brought to light.