Infinity Is A Fathomless Gulf, Into Which

Nothing Has Such Power To Broaden The Mind As The Ability To Investigate Systematically And Truly All That Comes Under Thy Observation In Life.

People Who Labor All Their Lives But Have No Purpose To Direct Every Thought And Impulse Toward Are Wasting Their Time-even When Hard At Work.

Reverence The Gods, And Help Men. Short Is Life.

The Universal Nature Has No External Space; But The Wondrous Part Of Her Art Is That Though She Has Circumscribed Herself, Everything Which Is Within Her Which Appears To Decay And To Grow Old And To Be Useless She Changes Into Herself, And Again Makes Other New Things From These Very Same, So That She Requires Neither Substance From Without Nor Wants A Place Into Which She May Cast That Which Decays. She Is Content Then With Her Own Space, And Her Own Matter, And Her Own Art.

Rememberest The Gods, And That They Wish Not To Be Flattered, But Wish All Reasonable Beings To Be Made Like Themselves; And... Rememberest That What Does The Work Of A Fig-tree Is A Fig-tree, And That What Does The Work Of A Dog Is A Dog, And That What Does The Work Of A Bee Is A Bee, And That What Does The Work Of A Man Is A Man.