Suicide Is A Privilege Of Man Which

Made Up Of The Glories Of The Most Precious Gems, To Describe Them Is A Matter Of Inexpressible Difficulty. For There Is Amongst Them The Gentler Fire Of The Ruby, There Is The Rich Purple Of The Amethyst, There Is The Sea-green Of The Emerald, And All Shining Together In An Indescribable Union. Others, By An Excessive Heightening Of Their Hues Equal All The Colours Of The Painter, Others The Flame Of Burning Brimstone, Or Of A Fire Quickened By Oil.

Many Dishes Bring Many Diseases.

I Would Have A Man Generous To His Country, His Neighbors, His Kindred, His Friends, And Most Of All His Poor Friends. Not Like Some Who Are Most Lavish With Those Who Are Able To Give Most Of Them.

In Comparing Various Authors With One Another, I Have Discovered That Some Of The Gravest And Latest Writers Have Transcribed, Word For Word, From Former Works, Without Making Acknowledgment.

Man Is The Only One That Knows Nothing, That Can Learn Nothing Without Being Taught. He Can Neither Speak Nor Walk Nor Eat, And In Short He Can Do Nothing At The Prompting Of Nature Only, But Weep.