We Bestow On Others Praise

To Be Adult Is To Be Alone.

On The Brink Of Being Satiated, Desire Still Appears Infinite.

To Say Of Men That They Are Bad Is To Say They Are Worse Than We Think We Are, Or Worse Than The Ideal Man Whose Image We Have Built Up On The Basis Of A Certain Few.

On Tue Un Homme, On Est Un Assassin. On Tue Des Millions D'hommes, On Est Un Conquérant. On Les Tue Tous, On Est Un Dieu. Kill A Man, And You Are An Assassin. Kill Millions Of Men And You Are A Conqueror. Kill Everyone, And You Are A God.

Falsity Cannot Keep An Idea From Being Beautiful; There Are Certain Errors Of Such Ingenuity That One Could Regret Their Not Ranking Among The Achievements Of The Human Mind.