The Superstition In Which We Were Brought

Who Cannot Resolve Upon A Moment's Notice To Live His Own Life, He Forever Lives A Slave To Others.

He Who Doesn't Lose His Wits Over Certain Things Has No Wits To Lose.

Where Wildness And Disorder Are Visible In The Dance, There Satan, Death And All Kinds Of Mischief Are Likewise Upon The Floor. For This Reason I Could Wish That The Dance Of Death Were Painted On The Walls Of All Ball-rooms In Order To Warn The Dancers, Not By The Levity Of Their Deportment, To Provoke The God Of Righteousness To Visit Them With A Sudden Judgment.

Nothing Under The Sun Is Ever Accidental.

As The Stag Which The Huntsman Has Hit Flies Through Bush And Brake, Over Stock And Stone, Thereby Exhausting His Strength But Not Expelling The Deadly Bullet From His Body; So Does Experience Show That They Who Have Troubled Consciences Run From Place To Place, But Carry With Them Wherever They Go Their Dangerous Wounds.