I beseech you to treasure up in your hearts these my parting words: Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.
In neglected fields the fern grows, which must be cleared out by fire.
If you know anything better than this candidly impart it; if not, use this with me.
There is no such thing as perfect happiness.
The whole race of scribblers flies from the town and yearns for country life.
Boy, I loathe Persian luxury.