He That Shuns Trifles Must Shun The

Perfect Happiness, By Princes Sought, Is Not With Birth Born, Nor Exchequers Bought.

Tis Immortality To Die Aspiring, As If A Man Were Taken Quick To Heaven.

I Will Neither Yield To The Song Of The Siren Nor The Voice Of The Hyena, The Tears Of The Crocodile Nor The Howling Of The Wolf.

Man Is A Torch Borne In The Wind; A Dream But Of A Shadow, Summed With All His Substance.

Fate's Such A Shrewish Thing.