Death Hangs Over Thee, While Thou Still

How Much Time He Saves Who Does Not Look To See What His Neighbor Says Or Does Or Thinks.

Art Thou Angry With Him Whose Armpits Stink? Art Thou Angry With Him Whose Mouth Smells Foul?

That Which Is Really Beautiful Has No Need Of Anything; Not More Than Law, Not More Than Truth, Not More Than Benevolence Or Modesty.

Perfection Of Character Is This: To Live Each Day As If It Were Your Last, Without Frenzy, Without Apathy, Without Pretence.

Is Your Cucumber Bitter? Throw It Away. Are There Briars In Your Path? Turn Aside. That Is Enough. Do Not Go On And Ay, 'why Were Things Of This Sort Ever Brought Into The World?'