One Of The Most Striking

The Flowers Of Life Are But Illusions. How Many Fade Away And Leave No Trace.

But One Must Know Where One Stands, And Where The Others Wish To Go.

Woe To Falsehood! It Affords No Relief To The Breast, Like Truth; It Gives Us No Comfort, Pains Him Who Forges It, And Like An Arrow Directed By A God Flies Back And Wounds The Archer.

Conscience Is The Virtue Of The Observers Not The Agents Of Action

Vanity Is A Desire Of Personal Glory, The Wish To Be Appreciated, Honoured, And Run After, Not Because Of One's Personal Qualities, Merits, And Achievements, But Because Of One's Individual Existence. At Best, Therefore, It Is A Frivolous Beauty Whim It Befits.