The Plague Of Man Is Boasting Of

Dreams Are Faithful Interpreters Of Our Inclinations; But There Is Art Required To Sort And Understand Them.

I Do Myself A Greater Injury In Lying Than I Do Him Of Whom I Tell A Lie.

Even Opinion Is Of Force Enough To Make Itself To Be Espoused At The Expense Of Life.

Things Are Not Bad In Themselves, But Our Cowardice Makes Them So.

I Want Death To Find Me Planting My Cabbages, But Careless Of Death, And Still More Of My Unfinished Garden.