In history there are no control groups. There is no one to tell us what might have been. We weep over the might have been, but there is no might have been. There never was.

In every trade save war men of talent and vigor prosper. In war they die.

For things at a common destination there is a common path. Not always easy to see. But there.

I don't know what sort of world she will live in and I have no fixed opinions concerning how she should live in it. I only know that if she does not come to value what is true above what is useful, it will make little difference whether she lives at all.

I tried to put things in perspective but sometimes you're just too close to it.

Our enemies ... seem always with us. The greater our hatred the more persistent the memory of them so that a truly terrible enemy becomes deathless. So that the man who has done you great injury or injustice makes himself a guest in your house forever. Perhaps only forgiveness can dislodge him.

The truth may often be carried about by those who themselves remain all unaware of it. They bear that which has weight and substance and yet for them has no name whereby it may be evoked or called forth. They go about ignorant of the true nature of their condition, such are the wiles of truth and such its stratagems.