Humankind's Chief Fault Is That

In Science The New Is An Advance; But In Morals, As Contradicting Our Inner Ideals And Historic Idols, It Is Ever A Retrogression.

Because The Heart Beats Under A Covering Of Hair, Of Fur, Feathers, Or Wings, It Is, For That Reason, To Be Of No Account?

It Is Easy To Flatter; It Is Harder To Praise.

Ah! The Seasons Of Love Roll Not Backward But Onward, Downward Forever.

Recollection Is The Only Paradise From Which We Cannot Be Turned Out.