a daughter's love for a kind father ... is mixed with the careless happiness of childhood, which can never come again. Into the father's grave the daughter, sometimes a gray-haired woman, lays away forever the little pet names and memories which to all the rest of the world are but foolishness.

It is easy to be humble when a greater is preferred; but when an inferior is lifted high above our heads, how can we bear it?

If we neglect our privileges, the gods take them from us.

My only wickedness is that I love you; my only goodness, the same.

Time is not so all-erasing as we think.

Are we to go out with trumpets and tell everything we know, just because it is true? Is there not such a thing as egotistical truthfulness?

a daughter's love for a kind father ... is mixed with the careless happiness of childhood, which can never come again. Into the father's grave the daughter, sometimes a gray-haired woman, lays away forever the little pet names and memories which to all the rest of the world are but foolishness.