A man's perfection is his work.
Pin thy faith to no man's sleeve. Hast thou not two eyes of thy own?
The highest ensign that men ever met and embraced under, the Cross itself, had no meaning save an accidental extrinsic one.
Lies exist only to be extinguished.
Pin your faith to no ones sleeves, haven't you two eyes of your own.
Work is the grand cure of all the maladies and miseries that ever beset mankind.