My love though silly is more brave.

Busy old fool, unruly Sun, why dost thou thus through windows and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers seasons run?

Solitude is a torment which is not threatened in hell itself.

As states subsist in part by keeping their weaknesses from being known, so is it the quiet of families to have their chancery and their parliament within doors, and to compose and determine all emergent differences there.

To know and feel all this and not have the words to express it makes a human a grave of his own thoughts.

As peace is of all goodness, so war is an emblem, a hieroglyphic, of all misery.

Never start with tomorrow to reach eternity. Eternity is not being reached by small steps.