Every Man's Work, Pursued Steadily, Tends To

Our Selfishness Is So Robust And Many-clutching That, Well Encouraged, It Easily Devours All Sustenance Away From Our Poor Little Scruples.

If You Are To Rule Men, You Must Rule Them Through Their Own Ideas.

I'd Sooner Have One Real Grief On My Mind Than Twenty False. It's Better To Know One's Robbed Than To Think One's Going To Be Murdered.

The Scornful Nostril And The High Head Gather Not The Odors That Lie On The Track Of Truth.

Perhaps The Wind Wails So In Winter For The Summers Dead, And All Sad Sounds Are Nature's Funeral Cries For What Has Been And Is Not.