I have thought there was some advantage even in death, by which we mingle with the herd of common men.

Men have come to such a pass that they frequently starve, not for want of necessaries, but for want of luxuries.

Thus men will lie on their backs, talking about the fall of man, and never make an effort to get up.

A man will not need to study history to find out what is best for his own culture.

What other words, we may almost ask, are memorable and worthy to be repeated than those which love has inspired? It is wonderful that they were ever uttered. They are few and rare indeed, but, like a strain of music, they are incessantly repeated and modulated by the memory. All other words crumble off with the stucco which overlies the heart. We should not dare to repeat these now aloud. We are not competent to hear them at all times.

He who walks alone, waits for no-one.

Things don't change. We change.