Nature Has, Herself, I Fear, Imprinted In

A Tutor Should Not Be Continually Thundering Instruction Into The Ears Of His Pupil, As If He Were Pouring It Through A Funnel, But, After Having Put The Lad, Like A Young Horse, On A Trot, Before Him, To Observe His Paces, And See What He Is Able To Perform, Should, According To The Extent Of His Capacity, Induce Him To Taste, To Distinguish, And To Find Out Things For Himself; Sometimes Opening The Way, At Other Times Leaving It For Him To Open; And By Abating Or Increasing His Own Pace, Accommodate His Precepts To The Capacity Of His Pupil.

The Recognition Of Virtue Is Not Less Valuable From The Lips Of The Man Who Hates It, Since Truth Forces Him To Acknowledge It; And Though He May Be Unwilling To Take It Into His Inmost Soul, He At Least Decks Himself Out In Its Trappings.

Shame On All Eloquence Which Leaves Us With A Taste For Itself And Not For Its Substance.

Once You Have Decided To Keep A Certain Pile, It Is No Longer Yours; For You Can't Spend It.

It Is In Vain That We Get Upon Stilts, For Once On Them, It Is Still With Our Legs That We Must Walk. And On The Highest Throne In The World We Are Still Sitting On Our Own Ass.