For Fate Has Wove The Thread Of

The Man Does Better Who Runs From Disaster Than He Who Is Caught By It.

Achilles Absent Was Achilles Still!

Men In Their Generations Are Like The Leaves Of The Trees. The Wind Blows And One Year's Leaves Are Scattered On The Ground; But The Trees Burst Into Bud And Put On Fresh Ones When The Spring Comes Round.

I'm Not A Bath Man Myself. More Of A Cologne Man.

And Empty Words Are Evil.