One Man's Word Is No Man's Word;

Destiny Grants Us Our Wishes, But In Its Own Way, In Order To Give Us Something Beyond Our Wishes.

Classicism Is Health, Romanticisim Is Sickness.

The Master Proves Himselin Recognizing His Limitations.

The Passions Are Like Those Demons With Which Afrasahiab Sailed Down The Orus. Our Only Safety Consists In Keeping Them Asleep. If They We Are Lost.

The Suffering May Be Moral Or Physical; And In My Opinion It Is Just As Absurd To Call A Man A Coward Who Destroys Himself, As To Call A Man A Coward Who Dies Of A Malignant Fever.