People Spend Most Of Their Lives Worrying

Good Heavens! For More Than Forty Years I Have Been Speaking Prose Without Knowing It.

There's A Sort Of Decency Among The Dead, A Remarkable Discretion: You Never Find Them Making Any Complaint Against The Doctor Who Killed Them!

Without Knowledge, Life Is No More Than The Shadow Of Death

I Have The Fault Of Being A Little More Sincere Than Is Proper.

Innocence Is Not Accustomed To Blush. [fr., L'innocence A Rougir N'est Point Accoutumee.]