Man's yesterday may never be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability.

Nought may endure but Mutability.

Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform: he only adds the infamy of servitude to the crime of murder.

The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.

History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.

When a thing is said to be not worth refuting you may be sure that either it is flagrantly stupid - in which case all comment is superfluous - or it is something formidable, the very crux of the problem.