A Scholar Knows No Boredom.

There Are Souls Which Fall From Heaven Like Flowers, But Ere They Bloom Are Crushed Under The Foul Tread Of Some Brutal Hoof.

Because The Heart Beats Under A Covering Of Hair, Of Fur, Feathers, Or Wings, It Is, For That Reason, To Be Of No Account?

Music Is Moonlight In The Gloomy Night Of Life.

If Self-knowledge Is The Road To Virtue, So Is Virtue Still More The Road To Self-knowledge.

Sorrows Gather Around Great Souls As Storms Do Around Mountains; But, Like Them, They Break The Storm And Purify The Air Of The Plain Beneath Them.