What Is Hardest Of All? That Which

Woe To Falsehood! It Affords No Relief To The Breast, Like Truth; It Gives Us No Comfort, Pains Him Who Forges It, And Like An Arrow Directed By A God Flies Back And Wounds The Archer.

A Vain Man Can Never Be Altogether Rude. Desirous As He Is Of Pleasing, He Fashions His Manners After Those Of Others.

For What One Has In Black And White, One Can Carry Home In Comfort.

Mastery Is Often Taken For Egotism.

The Flowers Of Life Are But Illusions. How Many Fade Away And Leave No Trace.