The Whole Art Of Living Consists In

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 World Runs On From One Folly To Another; And The Man Who, Solely From Regard To The Opinion Of Others, And Without Any Wish Or Necessity Of His Own, Toils After Gold, Honour, Or Any Other Phantom, Is No Better Than A Fool.

Painting And Tattooing The Body Is A Return To Animalism.

To Blow Is Not To Play On The Flute; You Must Move The Fingers. [ger., Blasen Ist Nicht Floten, Ihr Musst Die Finger Bewegen.]

The Mortal Race Is Far Too Weak Not To Grow Dizzy On Unwonted Brights.