No Man Who Is In A Hurry

Rome Remained Great As Long As She Had Enemies Who Forced Her To Unity, Vision, And Heroism. When She Had Overcome Them All She Flourished For A Moment And Then Began To Die.

The Love We Have In Our Youth Is Superficial Compared To The Love That An Old Man Has For His Old Wife.

If I Were Rich I Would Have Many Books, And I Would Pamper Myself With Bindings Bright To The Eye And Soft To The Touch, Paper Generously Opaque, And Type Such As Men Designed When Printing Was Very Young. I Would Dress My Gods In Leather And Gold, And Burn Candles Of Worship Before Them At Night, And String Their Names Like Beads On A String.

What If It Is For Life's Sake That We Must Die? In Truth We Are Not Individuals; And It Is Because We Think Ourselves Such That Death Seems Unforgivable. We Are Temporary Organs Of The Race, Cells In The Body Of Life; We Die And Drop Away That Life May Remain Young And Strong. If We Were To Live Forever, Growth Would Be Stifled, And Youth Would Find No Room On Earth. Death, Like Style, Is The Removal Of Rubbish, The Circumcision Of The Superfluous. In The Midst Of Death Life Renews Itself Immortally.

I Have Tried To Be Impartial, Though I Know That A Man's Past Always Colors His Views, And That Nothing Else Is So Irritating As Impartiality.