Each One Writes History According To His

I Honor The Father In His Son, Not The Son In His Father. Each One Receives A Reward Or Punishment For His Deeds, But Not For The Acts Of Others.

She Was White, Perhaps Too White. Her Eyes, Which Were Almost Always Cast Down, When She Raised Them Testified To The Purest Of Souls, And When She Smiled, Revealing Her Small, White Teeth, One Might Be Tempted To Say That A Rose Is Merely A Plant, And Ivory Just An Elephant's Tusk.

Each One Writes History According To His Convenience.

Genius Has No Country. It Blossoms Everywhere. Genius Is Like The Light, The Air. It Is The Heritage Of All.

While A People Preserves Its Language; It Preserves The Marks Of Liberty.