Men Of Thought And Men Of Action,

Every Age Has Its Peculiar Folly: Some Scheme, Project, Or Fantasy Into Which It Plunges, Spurred On By The Love Of Gain, The Necessity Of Excitement, Or The Force Of Imitation.

Tell Me, Ye Wingèd Winds That Round My Pathway Roar, Know Ye Not Some Spot Where Mortals Weep No More?

An Arrow May Fly Through The Air And Leave No Trace; But An Ill Thought Leaves A Trail Like A Serpent.

Old Tubal Cain Was A Man Of Might In The Days When Earth Was Young.

Extraordinary Popular Delusions And The Madness Of Crowds