Adversity iz a poultess which reduces our vanity and strengthens our virtew—even a boy never feels half so good az when he haz just bin spanked and sot away tew cool.
Pedantry iz the science ov investing what little yu know in one kind ov perfumery, and insisting upon sticking that under every man’s knose whom yu meet.
Lieing iz like trieing tew hide in a fog, if yu move about yure are in danger ov bumping yure hed agin the truth, and az soon az the fog blows oph yu are gone enny how.
Marrying an angel iz the poetry ov marriage, but living with her iz the proze; and this iz all well enuff if the taste ov the poetry hain’t spilte our relish for the proze.
The man who livs on hope must pick the bones ov dissapointment.
The Devil iz sed tew be the father ov lies, if this iz so, he haz got a large family, and a grate menny promising children amung them.
Life iz like a mug ov beer, froth at the top, ail in the middle, and settlings at the bottom.
We should liv in this life az tho we war walking on glaze ice, liable tew fall at enny moment, and tew be laffed at bi the bystanders.
Men, if they ain’t too lazy, liv sumtimes till they are 80, and destroy the time a good deal az follows: the fust 30 years they spend throwing stones at a mark, the seckond 30 they spend in examining the mark tew see whare the stuns hit, and the remainder iz divided, in cussing the stun-throwing bizzness, and nussing the rumatizz.
This setting down and folding our arms, and waiting for sumthing tew turn up, iz just about az rich a spekulashun az going out into a four hundred acre lot, setting down on a sharp stone, with a pail between our knees, and waiting for a cow tew back up and be milked.