Whose School-hours Are All The Days And

Old Age Is Not A Matter For Sorrow. It Is Matter For Thanks If We Have Left Our Work Done Behind Us.

A Laugh, To Be Joyous, Must Flow From A Joyous Heart, For Without Kindness, There Can Be No True Joy.

France Was Long A Despotism Tempered By Epigrams.

A Man Protesting Against Error Is On The Way Towards Uniting Himself With All Men That Believe In Truth.

To Me The Universe Was All Void Of Life, Of Purpose, Of Volition, Even Of Hostility; It Was One Huge, Dead, Immeasurable Steam-engine, Rolling On, In Its Dead Indifference, To Grind Me Limb From Limb. Oh Vast Gloomy, Solitary Golgotha, And Mill Of Death! Why Was The Living Banished Thither Companionless, Conscious? Why, If There Is No Devil; Nay, Unless The Devil Is Your God?