Never Can Custom Conquer Nature, For She

Of All The Rewards Of Virtue, . . . The Most Splendid Is Fame, For It Is Fame Alone That Can Offer Us The Memory Of Posterity.

What Is Becoming Is Honest, And Whatever Is Honest Must Always Be Becoming.

Nothing Is So Unbelievable That Oratory Cannot Make It Acceptable.

In The Very Books In Which Philosophers Bid Us Scorn Fame, They Inscribe Their Names.

The Happiest End Of Life Is This: When The Mind And The Other Senses Being Unimpaired, The Same Nature Which Put It Together Takes Asunder Her Own Work.