Men suppose their reason has command over their words; still it happens that words in return exercise authority on reason
For a crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love.
Always let losers have their words.
For what a man would like to be true, that he more readily believes.
Why should a man be in love with his fetters, though of gold?
A man were better relate himself to a statue or picture than to suffer his thoughts to pass in smother.