It Is Not He Who

That Which Happens To The Soil When It Ceases To Be Cultivated By The Social Man Happens To Man Himself When He Foolishly Forsakes Society For Solitude; The Brambles Grow Up In His Desert Heart.

Reason Is The Historian, But Passions Are The Actors.

The Mischief Of Children Is Seldom Actuated By Malice; That Of Grown-up People Always Is.

Opinions, Theories, And Systems Pass By Turns Over The Grindstone Of Time, Which At First Gives Them Brilliancy And Sharpness, But Finally Wears Them Out.

Rumor, Once Started, Rushes On Like A River, Until It Mingles With, And Is Lost In The Sea.