I Pray To God That

I Regret The Unhappiness Of Princes Who Are Slaves To Forms And Fettered By Caution.

I Have Never Been Able To Be So Allured By The Prospect Of Advantages Or So Terrified By Misfortunes, Swayed By Honours Or Fettered By Affection, Nay Not Even So Smitten By The Fear Of Death, As To Enter Upon Marriage.

The Doubt Of Future Foes Exiles My Present Joy.

I Cannot Find It In Me To Fear A Man Who Took Ten Years A Learning Of His Alphabet.

A Fool Too Late Bewares When All The Peril Is Past.