The Rightness Of A Thing Isn't Determined

A Man Is At His Youngest When He Thinks He Is A Man, Not Yet Realizing That His Actions Must Show It.

At The Stair-foot Hephaistion Was Waiting. He Happened To Be There, As He Happened To Have A Ball Handy If Alexander Wanted A Game, Or Water If He Was Thirsty; Not By Calculation, But In A Constant Awareness By Which No Smallest Trifle Was Missed. Now, When He Came Down The Stairs With A Shut Mouth And Blue Lines Under His Eyes, Hephaistion Received Some Mute Signal He Understood, And Fell Into Step Beside Him.

To Hate Excellence Is To Hate The Gods.

It Is Something, I Thought, When A King Can Put A Courtesan To The Blush.

But It Is Not For The Perfect Vase Or The Polished Gem To Choose Their Owners.