The Less Routine The More Life.

I Find My Past In My Present, And From These Forecast My Future.

The Fable Runs That The Gods Mix Our Pains And Pleasure In One Cup, And Thus Mingle For Us The Adulterate Immortality Which We Alone Are Permitted Here To Enjoy. Voluptuous Raptures, Could We Prolong These At Pleasure, Would Dissipate And Dissolve Us. A Sip Is The Most That Mortals Are Permitted From Any Goblet Of Delight.

Traveling Is No Fool's Errand To Him Who Carries His Eyes And Itinerary Along With Him.

Creeds, Like Other Goods, Pass By Inheritance To Descendants.

Anger Is The Resentment Of The Animal, And Gentle Blood Alone Makes The Gentleman.