Days, Months, Years Fly Away, And Irrecoverably

There Are Three Great Events In Our Lives: Birth, Life And Death. Of Birth We Have No Conscience; With Death, We Suffer; And, Concerning Life, We Forget To Live It.

A Coxcomb Is One Whom Simpletons Believe To Be A Man Of Merit.

He Who Only Writes To Suit The Taste Of The Age, Considers Himself More Than His Writings. We Should Always Aim At Perfection, And Then Posterity Will Do Us That Justice Which Sometimes Our Contemporaries Refuse Us.

A Vain Man Finds His Account In Speaking Good Or Evil Of Himself.

Friendship * * * Is A Long Time In Forming, It Is Of Slow Growth, Through Many Trials And Months Of Familiarity.