Between Urine And Filth We Are Born.

War Should We Waged Without Love Of Violence, Cruelty, Or Enmity.

Often The Contempt Of Vainglory Becomes A Source Of Even More Vainglory, For It Is Not Being Scorned When The Contempt Is Something One Is Proud Of.

Love Is A Temporary Madness. It Erupts Like An Earthquake And Then Subsides. And When It Subsides You Have To Make A Decision. You Have To Work Out Whether Your Roots Have Become So Entwined Together That It Is Inconceivable That You Should Ever Part. Because This Is What Love Is. Love Is Not Breathlessness, It Is Not Excitement, It Is Not The Promulgation Of Promises Of Eternal Passion. That Is Just Being In Love Which Any Of Us Can Convince Ourselves We Are. Love Itself Is What Is Left Over When Being In Love Has Burned Away, And This Is Both An Art And A Fortunate Accident.

When God Is Our Strength, It Is Strength Indeed; When Our Strength Is Our Own, It Is Only Weakness.

The Love Of Our Neighbor Hath Its Bounds In Each Man's Love Of Himself.