Even A Nod From A

Blinded As They Are To Their True Character By Self-love, Every Man Is His Own First And Chiefest Flatterer, Prepared, Therefore, To Welcome The Flatterer From The Outside, Who Only Comes Confirming The Verdict Of The Flatterer Within.

Not By Lamentations And Mournful Chants Ought We To Celebrate The Funeral Of A Good Man, But By Hymns; For, Ion Ceasing To Be Numbered With Mortals, He Enters Upon The Heritage Of A Diviner Life. Since He Is Gone Where He Feels No Pain, Let Us Not Indulge In Too Much Grief. The Soul Is Incapable Of Death. And He, Like A Bird Not Long Enough In His Cage To Become Attached To It, Is Free To Fly Away To A Purer Air. . . . Since We Cherish A Trust Like This, Let Our Outward Actions Be In Accord With It, And Let Us Keep Our Hearts Pure And Our Minds Calm.

It Is A Difficult Task, O Citizens, To Make Speeches To The Belly, Which Has No Ears.

I Confess Myself The Greatest Coward In The World, For I Dare Not Do An Ill Thing.

Books Delight To The Very Marrow Of One's Bones. They Speak To Us, Consult With Us, And Join With Us In A Living And Intense Intimacy.