As we to the brutes, poets are to us.
The future not being born, my friend, we will abstain from baptizing it.
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 man who has no mind of his own lends it to the priests.
Woman's reason is in the milk of her breasts.
The man of science is nothing if not a poet gone wrong.