Wise Men Are Able To

If I Were Not Alexander, I Would Be Diogenes.

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.

Pythagoras, When He Was Asked What Time Was, Answered That It Was The Soul Of This World.

To One That Promised To Give Him Hardy Cocks That Would Die Fighting, "prithee," Said Cleomenes, "give Me Cocks That Will Kill Fighting.

What Sort Of Tree Is There Which Will Not, If Neglected, Grow Crooked And Unfruitful; What But Will, If Rightly Ordered, Prove Productive And Bring Its Fruit To Maturity? What Strength Of Body Is There Which Will Not Lose Its Vigor And Fall To Decay By Laziness, Nice Usage, And Debauchery?