In Our Ideals We Unwittingly Reveal Our

Kill One Man And You're A Murderer, Kill A Million And You're A Conqueror.

We Spend Our Time Envying People Whom We Wouldn't Wish To Be.

I Still Understand A Few Words In Life, But I No Longer Think They Make A Sentence.

The Books One Has Written In The Past Have Two Surprises In Store: One Couldn't Write Them Again, And Wouldn't Want To.

We Find It Easy To Believe That Praise Is Sincere: Why Should Anyone Lie In Telling Us The Truth?