The long historian of my country's woes.

It never was our guise to slight the poor, or aught humane despise.

A councilor ought not to sleep the whole night through, a man to whom the populace is entrusted, and who has many responsibilities.

The journey is the thing.

Generations of men are like the leaves. In winter, winds blow them down to earth, but then, when spring season comes again, the budding wood grows more. And so with men: one generation grows, another dies away.

Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle, but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter.

We men are wretched things.