If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.

And wrinkles, the damned democrats, won't flatter.

My native land, good night!

Why do they call me misanthrope? Because They hate me, not I them.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

I see before me the gladiator lie.

I have not loved the world, nor the world me.