Monuments are the grappling-irons that bind one generation to another.

Of what delights are we deprived by our excesses!

The dregs may stir themselves as they please; they fall back to the bottom by their own coarseness.

Words become luminous when the poet's finger has passed over them its phosphorescence.

We disjoint the mind like the body.

Only just the right quantum of wit should be put into a book; in conversation a little excess is allowable.

To teach is to learn twice.