He Who Eats My Bread, Does My

Reflect Often Upon The Rapidity With Which All Existing Things, Or Things Coming Into Existence, Sweep Past Us And Are Carried Away.

I Have Often Wondered How It Is That Every Man Loves Himself More Than All The Rest Of Men, But Yet Sets Less Value On His Own Opinions Of Himself Than On The Opinions Of Others.

I Will March On In The Path Of Nature Till My Legs Sink Under Me, And Then I Shall Be At Rest, And Expire Into That Air Which Has Given Me My Daily Breath.

The Happiness And Unhappiness Of The Rational, Social Animal Depends Not On What He Feels But On What He Does; Just As His Virtue And Vice Consist Not In Feeling But In Doing.

Everything Is In A State Of Metamorphosis. Thou Thyself Art In Everlasting Change And In Corruption To Correspond; So Is The Whole Universe.