Still To The Sufferer Comes, As Due

Justice Shines In Very Smoky Homes, And Honors The Righteous; But The Gold-spangled Mansions Where The Hands Are Unclean She Leaves With Eyes Averted.

This Is A Sickness Rooted And Inherent In The Nature Of A Tyranny: That He That Holds It Does Not Trust His Friends.

It Is Best For The Wise Man Not To Seem Wise.

Ah, Lives Of Men! When Prosperous They Glitter - Like A Fair Picture; When Misfortune Comes - A Wet Sponge At One Blow Has Blurred The Painting.

Wrong Must Not Win By Technicalities.