The Poor Go To War, To Fight

In Human Life There Is Constant Change Of Fortune; And It Is Unreasonable To Expect An Exemption From The Common Fate. Life Itself Decays, And All Things Are Daily Changing.

For, In The Language Of Heraclitus, The Virtuous Soul Is Pure And Unmixed Light, Springing From The Body As A Flash Of Lightning Darts From The Cloud. But The Soul That Is Carnal And Immersed In Sense, Like A Heavy And Dank Vapor, Can With Difficulty Be Kindled, And Caused To Raise Its Eyes Heavenward.

Wickedness Is A Wonderfully Diligent Architect Of Misery, Of Shame, Accompanied With Terror, And Commotion, And Remorse, And Endless Perturbation.

I See The Cure Is Not Worth The Pain.

Plato Used To Say To Xenocrates The Philosopher, Who Was Rough And Morose, "good Xenocrates, Sacrifice To The Graces.