Humankind's Chief Fault Is That They Have

It Is Not The End Of Joy That Makes Old Age So Sad, But The End Of Hope.

Because The Heart Beats Under A Covering Of Hair, Of Fur, Feathers, Or Wings, It Is, For That Reason, To Be Of No Account?

There Are Souls Which Fall From Heaven Like Flowers, But Ere They Bloom Are Crushed Under The Foul Tread Of Some Brutal Hoof.

If Self-knowledge Is The Road To Virtue, So Is Virtue Still More The Road To Self-knowledge.

Like A Morning Dream, Life Becomes More And More Bright The Longer We Live, And The Reason Of Everything Appears More Clear. What Has Puzzled Us Before Seems Less Mysterious, And The Crooked Paths Look Straighter As We Approach The End.