The Worse Of Ingratitude Lies Not In

When The Mind Loses Its Feeling For Elegance, It Grows Corrupt And Groveling, And Seeks In The Crowd What Ought To Be Found At Home.

Shakespeare Is Not Our Poet, But The World's.

Democracy Is Always The Work Of Kings. Ashes, Which In Themselves Are Sterile, Fertilize The Land They Are Cast Upon.

We Are Poor, Indeed, When We Have No Half-wishes Left Us. The Heart And The Imagination Close The Shutters The Instant They Are Gone.

It Has Been My Fortune To Love In General Those Men Most Who Have Thought Most Differently From Me, On Subjects Wherein Others Pardon No Discordance. I Think I Have No More Right To Be Angry With A Man, Whose Reason Has Followed Up A Process Different From What Mine Has, And Is Satisfied With The Result, Than With One Who Has Gone To Venice While I Am At Siena, And Who Writes To Me That He Likes The Place.