The savage in man is never quite eradicated.

Surely the fates are forever kind, though Nature's laws are more immutable than any despot's, yet to man's daily life they rarelyseem rigid, but permit him to relax with license in summer weather. He is not harshly reminded of the things he may not do.

They can do without architecture who have no olives nor wines in the cellar.

I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society.

A journal, is a book that shall contain a record of all your joy, your ecstasy, what you are grateful for.

If I seem to boast more than is becoming, my excuse is that I brag for humanity rather than for myself.

Art may varnish and gild, but it can do no more.