Who kills a man kills a reasonable creature, God's image; but he who destroys a good book, kills reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye.
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.
If it come to prohibiting, there is aught more likely to be prohibited than truth itself.
Time is the subtle thief of youth.
Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil.
These two imparadised in one another's arms, the happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill of bliss on bliss.