To Hope For Paradise Is To Live

All The Small Squalors Of The Body, Known Only To Oneself, Insignificant In Youth, Easily Dismissed, In Old Age Became Dominant And Entered Into Fulfilment Of The Tyranny They Had Always Threatened.

What Is Beautiful Is Good, And Who Is Good Will Soon Be Beautiful.

Women, Like Men, Ought To Have Their Years So Glutted With Freedom That They Hate The Very Idea Of Freedom.

For Bees Are Captious Folk / And Quick To Turn Against The Lubber's Touch.

The Wise Traveler Is He Who Is Perpetually Surprised.