Quebec from the boat looked like the ramparts where Hamlet's ghost might have walked.
Despair is a narcotic. It lulls the mind into indifference.
I am what I am: an individual, unique and different, with a lineal history of ancestral promptings and urgings, a history of dreams, desires, and of special experiences, all of which I am the sum total.
That's the trouble with the world. We all despise ourselves.
By simple common sense I don't believe in God, in none.
The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people and so long as men die, liberty will never perish.