The World, Which Took Six

Death Hath A Thousand Doors To Let Out Life. I Shall Find One.

The Man Without A Navel Still Lives In Me.

They Do Most By Books, Who Could Do Much Without Them, And He That Chiefly Owes Himself Unto Himself, Is The Substantial Man.

Praise Is A Debt We Owe Unto The Virtue Of Others, And Due Unto Our Own From All Whom Malice Hath Not Made Mutes, Or Envy Struck Dumb.

Where We Desire To Be Informed 'tis Good To Contest With Men Above Ourselves; But To Confirm And Establish Our Opinions, 'tis Best To Argue With Judgments Below Our Own, That The Frequent Spoils And Victories Over Their Reasons May Settle In Ourselves An Esteem And Confirmed Opinion Of Our Own.