Success is an ugly thing. Men are deceived by its false resemblances to merit.
To be born with a caul is everything; luck is what matters.
The populace is an aged Narcissus which worships itself and applauds the commonplace.
There are no bounds to human thought. At its own risk and peril it analyses and explores its own bewilderment.
Mountains, sea, and forest make men reckless. They stir the wildness of men’s nature