I Confess Myself The Greatest Coward In

Not By Lamentations And Mournful Chants Ought We To Celebrate The Funeral Of A Good Man, But By Hymns; For, Ion Ceasing To Be Numbered With Mortals, He Enters Upon The Heritage Of A Diviner Life. Since He Is Gone Where He Feels No Pain, Let Us Not Indulge In Too Much Grief. The Soul Is Incapable Of Death. And He, Like A Bird Not Long Enough In His Cage To Become Attached To It, Is Free To Fly Away To A Purer Air. . . . Since We Cherish A Trust Like This, Let Our Outward Actions Be In Accord With It, And Let Us Keep Our Hearts Pure And Our Minds Calm.

Nature Without Learning Is Like A Blind Man; Learning Without Nature, Like A Maimed One; Practice Without Both, Incomplete. As In Agriculture A Good Soil Is First Sought For, Then A Skilful Husbandman, And Then Good Seed; In The Same Way Nature Corresponds To The Soil, The Teacher To The Husbandman, Precepts And Instruction To The Seed.

Vos Vestros Servate, Meos Mihi Linquite Mores You Keep To Your Own Ways, And Leave Mine To Me

Evidence Of Trust Begets Trust, And Love Is Reciprocated By Love.

A Healer Of Others, Himself Diseased.