It Is Death That Is The Guide

I Count Only The Hours That Are Serene.

If You Love Yourself Meanly, Childishly, Timidly, Even So Shall You Love Your Neighbor.

Sacrifice May Be A Flower That Virtue Will Pluck On Its Road, But It Was Not To Gather This Flower That Virtue Set Forth On Its Travels.

At Every Crossway On The Path That Leads To The Future, Each Progressive Spirit Is Opposed By A Thousand Men Appointed To Guard The Past. Let Us Have No Fear That The Fair Towers Of Former Days Be Sufficiently Defended. The Least That The Most Timid Among Us Can Do Is Not To Add To The Immense Dead Weight That Nature Drags Along.

You Do Well To Have Visions Of A Better Life Than Of Every Day, But It Is The Life Of Every Day From Which The Elements Of A Better Life Must Come.