The Idle Mind Knows Not What It

That Is True Liberty, Which Bears A Pure And Firm Breast.

They Hate Whom They Fear.

Let No One Honour Me With Tears, Or Bury Me With Lamentation. Why? Because I Fly Hither And Thither, Living In The Mouths Of Me. [lat., Nemo Me Lacrymis Decoret, Nec Funera Fletu. Faxit Cur? Volito Vivu' Per Ora Virum.]

Whom Men Fear They Hate, And Whom They Hate, They Wish Dead.

How Can Life Be Worth Living, If Devoid Of The Calm Trust Reposed By Friend In Friend? What Sweeter Joy Than In The Kindred Soul, Whose Converse Differs Not From Self-communion?