The wise become as the unwise in the enchanted chambers of Power, whose lamps make every face the same colour.
Men, like nails, lose their usefulness when they lose their direction and begin to bend.
Kindness in ourselves is the honey that blunts the sting of unkindness in another.
The writing of the wise are the only riches our posterity cannot squander.
The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.
The flame of anger, bright and brief, sharpens the barb of love.