Yet Man Will Never Be Perfect Until

Are There Not Some Places Where We Seem To Breathe Sadness? — Why, We Cannot Tell. It Is A Chain Of Recollections — An Idea Which Carries You Back To Other Times, To Other Places — Which, Very Likely, Have No Connection With The Present Time And Place.

Does The Open Wound In Another's Breast Soften The Pain Of The Gaping Wound In Our Own? Or Does The Blood Which Is Welling From Another Man's Side Staunch That Which Is Pouring From Our Own? Does The General Anguish Of Our Fellow Creatures Lessen Our Own Private And Particular Anguish? No, No, Each Suffers On His Own Account, Each Struggles With His Own Grief, Each Sheds His Own Tears.

Capricious And Unfaithful, The King Wished To Be Called Louis The Just And Louis The Chaste. Posterity Will Find A Difficulty In Understanding This Character, Which History Explains Only By Facts And Never By Reason.

You Who Are In Power Have Only The Means That Money Produces — We Who Are In Expectation, Have Those Which Devotion Prompts.

Hatred Is Blind; Rage Carries You Away; And He Who Pours Out Vengeance Runs The Risk Of Tasting A Bitter Draught.