The World Is Governed By Love,--self-love.

It Has Been Very Truly Said That The Mob Has Many Heads, But No Brains.

Man Spends His Life In Reasoning On The Past, In Complaining Of The Present, In Fearing Future.

Gold Like The Sun, Which Melts Wax, But Hardens Clay, Expands Great Souls.

That Which Happens To The Soil When It Ceases To Be Cultivated By The Social Man Happens To Man Himself When He Foolishly Forsakes Society For Solitude; The Brambles Grow Up In His Desert Heart.

It Is, No Doubt, An Immense Advantage To Have Done Nothing, But One Should Not Abuse It.