Do The Devils Lie? No; For Then

A Man May Be In As Just Possession Of The Truth As Of A City, And Yet Be Forced To Surrender.

Death Hath A Thousand Doors To Let Out Life. I Shall Find One.

A Diamond, Which Is The Hardest Of Stones, Not Yielding Unto Steel, Emery Or Any Other Thing, Is Yet Made Soft By The Blood Of A Goat.

I Am The Happiest Man Alive. I Have That In Me That Can Convert Poverty To Riches, Adversity To Prosperity, And I Am More Invulnerable Than Archilles; Fortune Hath Not One Place To Hit Me.

We Censure Others But As They Disagree From That Humor Which We Fancy Laudable In Ourselves, And Commend Others But For That Wherein They Seem To Quadrate And Consent With Us.