The Perfection Of Art Is To Conceal

If You Direct Your Whole Thought To Work Itself, None Of The Things Which Invade Eyes Or Ears Will Reach The Mind.

While We Are Examining Into Everything We Sometimes Find Truth Where We Least Expected It.

Virtue, Though She Gets Her Beginning From Nature, Yet Receives Her Finishing Touches From Learning.

In A Crowd, On A Journey, At A Banquet Even, A Line Of Thought Can Itself Provide Its Own Seclusion.

The Soul Languishing In Obscurity Contracts A Kind Of Rust, Or Abandons Itself To The Chimera Of Presumption; For It Is Natural For It To Acquire Something, Even When Separated From Any One.