In The Groves Of Their Academy, At

All That Is Necessary For Evil To Succeed Is For Good Men To Do Nothing As They Must If They Believe They Can Do Nothing. There Is Nothing Worse Because The Council Of Despair Is Declaration Of Irresponsibility; It Is Pilate Washing His Hands.

As The Rose-tree Is Composed Of The Sweetest Flowers And The Sharpest Thorns, As The Heavens Are Sometimes Overcast—alternately Tempestuous And Serene—so Is The Life Of Man Intermingled With Hopes And Fears, With Joys And Sorrows, With Pleasure And Pain.

A Kind Providence Has Placed In Our Breasts A Hatred Of The Unjust And Cruel, In Order That We May Preserve Ourselves From Cruelty And Injustice. They Who Bear Cruelty, Are Accomplices In It. The Pretended Gentleness Which Excludes That Charitable Rancour, Produces An Indifference Which Is Half An Approbation. They Never Will Love Where They Ought To Love, Who Do Not Hate Where They Ought To Hate.

In The Groves Of Their Academy, At The End Of Every Vista, You See Nothing But The Gallows.

We Must Soften Into A Credulity Below The Milkiness Of Infancy To Think All Men Virtuous. We Must Be Tainted With A Malignity Truly Diabolical, To Believe All The World To Be Equally Wicked And Corrupt.