The Doctors Allow One To Die, The

In Friendship We Only See Those Faults Which May Be Prejudicial To Our Friends. In Love We See No Faults But Those By Which We Suffer Ourselves.

The State Not Seldom Tolerates A Comparatively Great Evil To Keep Out Millions Of Lesser Ills And Inconveniences Which Otherwise Would Be Inevitable And Without Remedy.

A Man Starts Upon A Sudden, Takes Pen, Ink, And Paper, And Without Ever Having Had A Thought Of It Before, Resolves Within Himself He Will Write A Book; He Has No Talent At Writing, But He Wants Fifty Guineas.

That Man Is Good Who Does Good To Others; If He Suffers On Account Of The Good He Does, He Is Very Good; If He Suffers At The Hands Of Those To Whom He Has Done Good, Then His Goodness Is So Great That It Could Be Enhanced Only By Greater Sufferings; And If He Should Die At Their Hands, His Virtue Can Go No Further: It Is Heroic, It Is Perfect.

Love And Friendship Exclude Each Other.