Prolonged endurance tames the bold.

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.

Reason is so unreasonable, that few people can say they are in possession of it.

I hate all pain, Given or received; we have enough within us The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, Not to add to each other's natural burden Of mortal misery.

I have always laid it down as a maxim -and found it justified by experience -that a man and a woman make far better friendships than can exist between two of the same sex -but then with the condition that they never have made or are to make love to each other.

What deep wounds ever closed without a scar?