Thare iz few, if enny, more suggestive sights tew a philosopher, than tew lean agin the side ov the wall, and peruse a clean, phatt, and well disiplined baby, spread out on the floor, trieing tew smash a hammer awl tew pieces with a looking glass.
Evry man kan boast ov one admirer.
If yu would be successful in corekting the iniquitys ov the people, fire at their vices, not at the people; the trew way to abuze a drunkard iz to brake hiz jug.
Life iz a punktuated paragraff, disseazes are the commas, sickness the semicolons, and death the full stop.
No man iz ritch who wants enny more than what he haz got.
Don’t giv outward appearances awl the credit, the spirit ov a handsum boot iz the little fut that iz in it.
I don’t beleaf in bad luck being sot for a man, like a trap, but i hav known lots ov folks, who if thare waz enny fust rate bad luck lieing around loose, would be sure tew git one foot in it enny how.
The man who wrote, “I would not liv always, I ask not tew sta,” probably never had been urged sufficiently.
Thare iz a kind ov acktive lazyness, it works on its viktims just az the wicked flea duz on the feelings ov an old house dogg, he hopps up quick, but drops down agin sudden, in the same spot.
The man who controls hiz pashuns sits at the helm ov hiz ship.