Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars. Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold, And the great price we paid for it full worth: We have it only when we are half earth. Little avails that coinage to the old!

The stench of the trail of Ego in our History. It is ego - ego, the fountain cry, origin, sole source of war.

Prepare, You lovers, to know Love a thing of moods: Not like hard life, of laws.

The man who has no mind of his own lends it to the priests.

The well of true wit is truth itself.

That rarest gift to Beauty, Common Sense!

Friendship, I fancy, means one heart between two.