Falsehood Is For A Season.

Cruelty Is No More The Cure Of Crimes Than It Is The Cure Of Sufferings; Compassion, In The First Instance, Is Good For Both; I Have Known It To Bring Compunction When Nothing Else Would.

Clear Writers, Like Fountains, Do Not Seem So Deep As They Are; The Turbid Look The Most Profound.

The Deafest Man Can Hear Praise, And Is Slow To Think Any An Excess.

In Argument, Truth Always Prevails Finally; In Politics, Falsehood Always.

We Enter Our Studies, And Enjoy A Society Which We Alone Can Bring Together. We Raise No Jealousy By Conversing With One In Preference To Another; We Give No Offence To The Most Illustrious By Questioning Him As Long As We Will, And Leaving Him As Abruptly. Diversity Of Opinion Raises No Tumult In Our Presence: Each Interlocutor Stands Before Us, Speaks Or Is Silent, And We Adjourn Or Decide The Business At Our Leisure.