Arms Are My Ornaments, Warfare My Repose.

I Do Not Say A Proverb Is Amiss When Aptly And Reasonably Applied, But To Be Forever Discharging Them, Right Or Wrong, Hit Or Miss, Renders Conversation Insipid And Vulgar.

To Think That The Affairs Of This Life Always Remain In The Same State Is A Vain Presumption; Indeed They All Seem To Be Perpetually Changing And Moving In A Circular Course. Spring Is Followed By Summer, Summer By Autumn, And Autumn By Winter, Which Is Again Followed By Spring, And So Time Continues Its Everlasting Round. But The Life Of Man Is Ever Racing To Its End, Swifter Than Time Itself, Without Hope Of Renewal, Unless In The Next That Is Limitless And Infinite.

The Road To The Inn Is Much Better Than The Stay.

No Fathers Or Mothers Think Their Own Children Ugly; And This Self-deceit Is Yet Stronger With Respect To The Offspring Of The Mind.

The Stomach Carries The Heart, And Not The Heart The Stomach.