Full Of Wisdom Are The Ordinations Of

Great Souls Suffer In Silence.

Gray Hairs Are Death's Blossoms.

Modest Humility Is Beauty's Crown.

Far Must Thy Researches Go Wouldst Thou Learn The World To Know; Thou Must Tempt The Dark Abyss Wouldst Thou Prove What Being Is; Naught But Firmness Gains The Prize, Naught But Fullness Makes Us Wise, Buried Deep Truth E'er Lies.

What Else Is Chance But The Rude Stone Which Receives Its Life From The Sculptor's Hand? Providence Gives Us Chance, And Man Must Mould It To His Own Designs.