Those Who Know Nothing Must Believe Everything.

The Incurable Ills Are The Imaginary Ills.

How Happy Are The Pessimists! What Joy Is Theirs When They Have Proved There Is No Joy.

We Ask The Poet: 'what Subject Have You Chosen?' Instead Of: 'what Subject Has Chosen You?

Conquer But Never Triumph.

Misanthropy Is A Suit Of Armor Lined With Thorns.