It Is Our Talents Rusting Unused Within

To A Man Utterly Without A Sense Of Belonging, Mere Life Is All That Matters. It Is The Only Reality In An Eternity Of Nothingness, And He Clings To It With Shameless Despair.

Our Originality Shows Itself Most Strikingly Not In What We Wholly Originate But In What We Do With That Which We Borrow From Others.

Call Not That Man Wretched, Who Whatever Ills He Suffers, Has A Child To Love.

No One Is Truly Literate Who Cannot Read His Own Heart.

Rudeness Is A Weak Imitation Of Strength.