Fate Leads Him Who Follows It, And

Hesiod Might As Well Have Kept His Breath To Cool His Pottage.

To Harmodius, Descended From The Ancient Harmodius, When He Reviled Iphicrates [a Shoemaker's Son] For His Mean Birth, "my Nobility," Said He, "begins In Me, But Yours Ends In You.

For, In The Language Of Heraclitus, The Virtuous Soul Is Pure And Unmixed Light, Springing From The Body As A Flash Of Lightning Darts From The Cloud. But The Soul That Is Carnal And Immersed In Sense, Like A Heavy And Dank Vapor, Can With Difficulty Be Kindled, And Caused To Raise Its Eyes Heavenward.

God Is The Brave Man's Hope, And Not The Coward's Excuse.

It Is No Flattery To Give A Friend A Due Character; For Commendation Is As Much The Duty Of A Friend As Reprehension.