We All Covet Wealth, But Not Its

Men Fall From Great Fortune Because Of The Same Shortcomings That Led To Their Rise.

We Seek Our Happiness Outside Ourselves, And In The Opinion Of Men We Know To Be Flatterers, Insincere, Unjust, Full Of Envy, Caprice And Prejudice.

What Greater Weakness Can There Be Than Not To Know What Is The Source Of One's Being, Of One's Life, Of One's Senses, Of One's Knowledge, And What Is To Be Their End? What Can Be More Deeply Disheartening Than To Wonder Whether One's Soul Is, Perhaps, A Material Thing, Like A Stone Or A Reptile, Corruptible Like These Base Creatures? Is There Not More Strength And Greatness Of Mind In Admitting The Idea Of A Being Superior To All Other Beings, Who Has Made Them All And To Whom All Owe Their Existence; Of A Being Supremely Perfect, Who Is Pure, Who Had No Beginning And Can Have No Ending, Of Whom Our Soul Is The Image And, So To Speak, A Portion, Being A Spiritual And Immortal Thing?

Party Loyalty Lowers The Greatest Men To The Petty Level Of The Masses.

To Make A Book Is As Much A Trade As To Make A Clock; Something More Than Intelligence Is Required To Become An Author.