There Is No Knowledge So Hard To

Painting Myself For Others, I Have Painted My Inward Self With Colors Clearer Than My Original Ones. I Have No More Made My Book Than My Book Has Made Me--a Book Consubstantial With Its Author, Concerned With My Own Self, An Integral Part Of My Life; Not Concerned With Some Third-hand, Extraneous Purpose, Like All Other Books.

I Leaf Through Books, I Do Not Study Them. What I Retain Of Them Is Something I No Longer Recognize As Anyone Else's.

Nor Is It Enough To Toughen Up His Soul; You Must Also Toughen Up His Muscles.

It Costs An Unreasonable Woman No More To Pass Over One Reason Than Another; They Cherish Themselves Most Where They Are Most Wrong.

A Man May Be Humble Through Vainglory.