I Hold It A Blasphemy To Say

Better A False Belief Than No Belief At All.

One Has To Spend Many Years In Learning How To Be Happy.

Let Thy Chief Terror Be Of Thine Own Soul: There, 'mid The Throng Of Hurrying Desires That Trample O'er The Dead To Seize Their Spoil, Lurks Vengeance, Footless, Irresistible As Exhaltations Laden With Slow Death, And O'er The Fairest Troop Of Captured Joys Breathes Pallid Pestilence.

Subtle Impressions For Which Words Are Quite Too Coarse A Medium.

What Is Opportunity To The Man Who Can't Use It? An Unfecundated Egg, Which The Waves Of Time Wash Away Into Nonentity.