Man Is Almost Always As Wicked As

Rest Forever, Tired Heart. The Final Illusion Has Perished. The One We Believed Eternal Is Gone. Just Like That. Out The Door Desire Follows Hope. Rest Forever. Enough Throbbing. Nothing Deserves Your Attention Nor Is The Earth Worth A Sigh. Bitterness And Boredom Is Life, Nothing Else Ever, And The World Is Mud. Quiet Now. Despair For The Last Time. Fate Gives Us Dying As A Gift. Now Turn From The Hills, The Ugly Hidden Power Which Rules For The Common Evil And The Infinite Vanity Of It All.

People Are Ridiculous Only When They Try Or Seem To Be That Which They Are Not.

That Is Why All Great Men Are Modest: They Consistently Measure Themselves Not In Comparison To Other People But To The Idea Of Perfection Ever Present In Their Minds, An Ideal Infinitely Clearer And Greater Than Any Common People Have, And They Also Realize How Far They Are From Fulfilling Their Ideal.

The Old Man, Especially If He Is In Society In The Privacy Of His Thoughts, Though He May Protest The Opposite, Never Stops Believing That, Through Some Singular Exception Of The Universal Rule, He Can In Some Unknown And Inexplicable Way Still Make An Impression On Women.

Ignorance Is The Greatest Source Of Happiness.