There Are Only Two Lasting Bequests We

He Who Can Not Learn To Love Must Flatter.

Rash Combat Oft Immortalizes Man; If He Should Fall, He Is Renowned In Song; But After-ages Reckon Not The Ceaseless Tears Which The Forsaken Woman Sheds. Poets Tell Us Not Of The Many Nights Consumed In Weeping, Or Of The Dreary Days Wherein Her Anguished Soul Vainly Yearns To Call Her Loved One Back.

It Is A Maxim Of Wise Government To Treat People Not As They Should Be But As They Actually Are.

A Noble Man Is Led By Woman's Gentle Words.

There Is Nothing Worth Thinking But It Has Been Thought Before; We Must Only Try To Think It Again.