Whoever benefits his enemy with straightforward intention that man's enemies will soon fold their hands in devotion.

The world loves a spice of wickedness.

Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time.

There is no death! What seems so is transition; this life of mortal breath is but a suburb of the life elysian, whose portal we call Death.

Defeat may be victory in disguise.

Whenever nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit.

To be seventy years old is like climbing the Alps. You reach a snow-crowned summit, and see behind you the deep valley stretching miles and miles away, and before you other summits higher and whiter, which you may have strength to climb, or may not. Then you sit down and meditate and wonder which it will be.