We Call Heaven Our Home, As The

We Enter The World Alone, We Leave It Alone.

Experience Is No More Transferable In Morals Than In Art.

Woe To The Unlucky Man Who As A Child Is Taught, Even As A Portion Of His Creed, What His Grown Reason Must Forswear.

What Is Called Virtue In The Common Sense Of The Word Has Nothing To Do With This Or That Man's Prosperity, Or Even Happiness.

Fling Away Your Soul Once For All, Your Own Small Self; If You Will Find It Again. Count Not Even On Immortality.