Very Few People Love Others For What

Self-love Exaggerates Our Faults As Well As Our Virtues.

Know'st Thou The Land Where The Lemon-trees Bloom, Where The Gold Orange Glows In The Deep Thicket's Gloom, Where A Wind Ever Soft From The Blue Heaven Blows, And The Groves Are Of Laurel And Myrtle And Rose!

You Must Be Either The Servant Or The Master, The Hammer Or The Anvil.

Woe To Him Who Would Ascribe Something Like Reason To Chance, And Make A Religion Of Surrendering To It.

Duty Is The Demand Of The Hour.