No Man Is A Hero To His

How Many We Know Who Have Fled The Sweetness Of A Tranquil Life In Their Homes, Among The Friends, To Seek The Horror Of Uninhabitable Deserts; Who Have Flung Themselves Into Humiliation, Degradation, And The Contempt Of The World, And Have Enjoyed These And Even Sought Them Out.

No Man Profiteth But By The Loss Of Others.

Truly It Is Reasonable To Make A Great Distinction Between The Faults That Come From Our Weakness And Those That Come From Our Wickedness.

When All Is Summed Up, A Man Never Speaks Of Himself Without Loss; His Accusations Of Himself Are Always Believed; His Praises Never.

Can Anything Be Imagined So Ridiculous That This Miserable And Wretched Creature, Who Is Not So Much As Master Of Himself, But Subject To The Injuries Of All Things, Should Call Himself Master And Emperor Of The World, Of Which He Has Not Power To Know The Least Part, Much Less To Command The Whole?