‘Solomon Slade’ is the pseudonym of an aphorist who has penned three hundred sayings (Solomon’s 300, Maxims for the 21st Century) as a gift for family and friends this Christmas. Giving aphorisms as gifts is a dangerous business, since the wise words themselves are not always so festive. But Slade’s sayings come from a very generous spirit, though Solomon is not the first aphorist who comes to mind when reading them. These are more the observations of a suburban La Rochefoucauld—meditations on marriage, sex, politics, house pets, backyards, etc… that address the big existential questions that crack domestic routine like crabgrass through a sidewalk. There is also the occasional surreal touch, a Ramon Gomez de la Serna-like ability to spot the macabre in the mundane. Mr. Slade says he uses a pseudonym as “a way to deflect criticism.” He should be more worried about it deflecting praise.

Losing a great love is an eternal regret—and often a great relief.

The innocent can’t account for their whereabouts nearly as well as the guilty.

The best advice is a bad example.

Charity is a vampire with sugared fangs.

People with dogs at home know a hero’s welcome on a daily basis.

Immortality doesn’t last as long as it used to.

Words and tornadoes are made of the same thing and can be equally destructive.

Most people praise monogamy for moral reasons, but they practice it for financial ones.

A good lover makes a good breakfast.

The sounds leading up to vomiting and those leading up to an election are equally disgusting.

Getting naked is sexier than being naked.

Shallow water and shallow people are most easily agitated.

All men become rakes when they try on a hat.

No speech can be good enough to distract from a speaker’s unzipped fly.

A philosophy should be able to fit into one sentence. Perhaps two.