If The Path Be Beautiful,

It Is By Acts, And Not By Ideas, That People Ensure The Bar Down The Street Cannot Have A Patio.

The Law In Its Majesty Prohibits Rich And Poor Alike From Sleeping Under Bridges.

Distrust Even Mathematics; Albeit So Sublime And Highly Perfected, We Have Here A Machine Of Such Delicacy It Can Only Work In Vacuo, And One Grain Of Sand In The Wheels Is Enough To Put Everything Out Of Gear. One Shudders To Think To What Disaster Such A Grain Of Sand May Bring A Mathematical Brain. Remember Pascal.

God, Conquered, Will Become Satan; Satan, Conquering, Will Become God. May The Fates Spare Me This Terrible Lot; I Love The Hell Which Formed My Genius. I Love The Earth Where I Have Done Some Good, If It Be Possible To Do Any Good In This Fearful World Where Beings Live But By Rapine.

We Reproach People For Talking About Themselves But It Is The Subject They Treat Best.