Nothing is so difficult but that man will accomplish it.

However rich or elevated, a name less something is always wanting to our imperfect fortune.

Not treasured wealth, nor the consul's lictor, can dispel the mind's bitter conflicts and the cares that flit, like bats, about your fretted roofs.

Books have their destinies.

The mob may hiss me, but I congratulate myself while I contemplate my treasures in their hoard.

The Sun, the stars and the seasons as they pass, some can gaze upon these with no strain of fear.

Oh! thou who are greatly mad, deign to spare me who am less mad.