The Vices We Scoff At In Others

But Man Is A Noble Animal, Splendid In Ashes, And Pompous In The Grave, Solemnizing Nativities And Deaths With Equal Lustre, Nor Omitting Ceremonies Of Bravery, In The Infamy Of His Nature. Life Is A Pure Flame, And We Live By An Invisible Sun Within Us.

The Man Without A Navel Still Lives In Me.

Who Knows Whether The Best Of Men Be Known? Or Whether There Be Not More Remarkable Persons Forgot, Than Any That Stand Remembered In The Known Account Of Time?

I Have Tried If I Could Reach That Great Resolution . . . To Be Honest Without A Thought Of Heaven Or Hell.

I Am The Happiest Man Alive. I Have That In Me That Can Convert Poverty To Riches, Adversity To Prosperity, And I Am More Invulnerable Than Archilles; Fortune Hath Not One Place To Hit Me.