In These Divine Pleasures Permitted To Me

The Imitator Dooms Himself To Hopeless Mediocrity.

Trust Men And They Will Be True To You; Treat Them Greatly And They Will Show Themselves Great.

What Is Man Born For But To Be A Reformer, A Remaker Of What Man Has Made? A Renouncer Of Lies; A Restorer Of Truth And Good? Imitating That Great Nature Which Embossoms Us All, And Which Sleeps No Moment On An Old Past, But Every Hour Repairs Herself, Yielding Us Every Morning A New Day, With Every Breath A New Life?

Why Should We Grope Among The Dry Bones Of The Past, Or Put The Living Generation Into Masquerade Out Of Its Faded Wardrobe?

All Violence, All That Is Dreary And Repels, Is Not Power, But The Absence Of Power.