You Have Your Face Bare; I Am

He Who Is Not Sure Of His Memory, Should Not Undertake The Trade Of Lying.

It Is A Thorny Undertaking, And More So Than It Seems, To Follow A Movement So Wandering As That Of Our Mind, To Penetrate The Opaque Depths Of Its Innermost Folds, To Pick Out And Immobilize The Innumerable Flutterings That Agitate It.

Nothing Fixes A Thing So Intensely In The Memory As The Wish To Forget It.

He Loves Little Who Loves By Rule.

A Man May By Custom Fortify Himself Against Pain, Shame, And Suchlike Accidents; But As To Death, We Can Experience It But Once, And Are All Apprentices When We Come To It