He Is A Fool Who Lets Slip

I Confess Myself The Greatest Coward In The World, For I Dare Not Do An Ill Thing.

For, In The Language Of Heraclitus, The Virtuous Soul Is Pure And Unmixed Light, Springing From The Body As A Flash Of Lightning Darts From The Cloud. But The Soul That Is Carnal And Immersed In Sense, Like A Heavy And Dank Vapor, Can With Difficulty Be Kindled, And Caused To Raise Its Eyes Heavenward.

Grief Is Like A Physical Pain Which Must Be Allowed To Subside Somewhat On Its Own Before Medical Treatment Is Applied.

We Ought Not To Treat Living Creatures Like Shoes Or Household Belongings, Which When Worn With Use We Throw Away.

Of All The Disorders In The Soul, Envy Is The Only One No One Confesses To.