Nothing Is More Consonant With Nature Than

The Flowers Of Life Are But Illusions. How Many Fade Away And Leave No Trace.

The Angles Even Draw Strength From Gazing On Its Glance, Though None Its Meaning Fathom May; The World's Unwither'd Countenance Is Bright As At Creation's Day.

New Inventions Can And Will Be Made; However, Nothing New Can Be Thought Of That Concerns Moral Man. Everything Has Already Been Thought And Said Which At Best We Can Express In Different Forms And Give New Expressions To.

Moral Epochs Have Their Course As Well As The Seasons. We Can No More Hold Them Fast Than We Can Hold Sun, Moon, And Stars. Our Faults Perpetually Return Upon Us; And Herein Lies The Subtlest Difficulty Of Self-knowledge.

If You Modestly Enjoy Your Fame You Are Not Unworthy To Rank With The Holy.