For There Below Ground Sits The Dark

This Is A Sickness Rooted And Inherent In The Nature Of A Tyranny: That He That Holds It Does Not Trust His Friends.

We Must Pronounce Him Fortunate Who Has Ended His Life In Fair Prosperity.

Ah, Lives Of Men! When Prosperous They Glitter - Like A Fair Picture; When Misfortune Comes - A Wet Sponge At One Blow Has Blurred The Painting.

With Our Own Feathers, Not By Others' Hands, Are We Now Smitten.

Whenever A Man Makes Haste, God Too Hastens With Him.