The gentlest man cannot live in peace if it does not please his wicked neighbor.

There is no solitude in nature.

Death is a mighty mediator. There all the flames of rage are extinguished, hatred is appeased, and angelic pity, like a weeping sister, bends with gentle and close embrace over the funeral urn.

Historians are prophets with their face turned backward.

In the society, where people are just parts in a larger machine, individuals are unable to develop fully.

A pity about the people! they are brave enough comrades, but they have heads like a soapboiler's.

Courage, ne'er by sorrow broken! Aid where tears of virtue flow; Faith to keep each promise spoken! Truth alike to friend and foe!