It Is A Sad Thing When Men

As A Man Falls Out Of Favour And His Wealth Declines, We Discover For The First Time The Ridiculous Aspects Of His Character, Which Were Always There But Which Wealth And Favour Had Concealed.

Make Me Chaste And To What Excesses Will Men Not Go For The Sake Of A Religion In Which They Believe So Little And Which They Practice So Imperfectly!

He Who Excels In His Art So As To Carry It To The Utmost Height Of Perfection Of Which It Is Capable May Be Said In Some Measure To Go Beyond It: His Transcendent Productions Admit Of No Appellations.

All The Worth Of Some People Lies In Their Name; Upon A Closer Inspection It Dwindles To Nothing, But From A Distance It Deceives Us.

What Greater Weakness Can There Be Than Not To Know What Is The Source Of One's Being, Of One's Life, Of One's Senses, Of One's Knowledge, And What Is To Be Their End? What Can Be More Deeply Disheartening Than To Wonder Whether One's Soul Is, Perhaps, A Material Thing, Like A Stone Or A Reptile, Corruptible Like These Base Creatures? Is There Not More Strength And Greatness Of Mind In Admitting The Idea Of A Being Superior To All Other Beings, Who Has Made Them All And To Whom All Owe Their Existence; Of A Being Supremely Perfect, Who Is Pure, Who Had No Beginning And Can Have No Ending, Of Whom Our Soul Is The Image And, So To Speak, A Portion, Being A Spiritual And Immortal Thing?