What Name To Call Thee By, O

Life In Itself Is Short Enough, But The Physicians With Their Art, Know To Their Amusement, How To Make It Still Shorter.

Hope Is Incredible To The Slave Of Grief.

Books Come At My Call And Return When I Desire Them; They Are Never Out Of Humor And They Answer All My Questions With Readiness. Some Present In Review Before Me The Events Of Past Ages; Others Reveal To Me The Secrets Of Nature. These Teach Me How To Live, And Those How To Die; These Dispel My Melancholy By Their Mirth, And Amuse Me By Their Sallies Of Wit. Some There Are Who Prepare My Soul To Suffer Everything, To Desire Nothing, And To Become Thoroughly Acquainted With Itself. In A Word, They Open The Door To All The Arts And Sciences.

Virtue Is Health, Vice Is Sickness.

Man Has No Greater Enemy Than Himself. I Have Acted Contrary To My Sentiments And Inclination; Throughout Our Whole Lives We Do What We Never Intended, And What We Proposed To Do, We Leave Undone.