But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity.
We do but learn to-day what our better advanced judgements will unteach us tomorrow.
What then is the wisdom of the times called old? Is it the wisdom of gray hairs? No. It is the wisdom of the cradle.
Let age, not envy, draw wrinkles on thy cheeks.
It is we that are blind, not fortune.
To ruminate upon evils, to make critical notes upon injuries, and be too acute in their apprehensions, is to add unto our own tortures, to feather the arrows of our enemies, to lash ourselves with the scorpions of our foes, and to resolve to sleep no more.