In A Certain State It Is Indecent

The Object Of Convalescence Ought To Be To Turn Our Attention To Life: At Other Times, Simply To Our Tasks!

In His Lonely Solitude, The Solitary Man Feeds Upon Himself; In The Thronging Multitude, The Many Feed Upon Him. Now Choose.

When A Scholar Of The Old Culture Vows No Longer To Have Anything To Do With Men Who Believe In Progress, He Is Right. For The Old Culture Has Its Greatness And Goodness Behind It, And An Historical Education Forces One To Admit That It Can Never Again Be Fresh.

You Are Treading The Path To Your Greatness: No One Shall Follow You Here! Your Passage Has Effaced The Path Behind You, And Above That Path Stands Written: Impossibility.

I'm Not Upset That You Lied To Me, I'm Upset That From Now On I Can't Believe You.