Glory can be for a woman but the brilliant morning of happiness.
Providence protects us in all the details of our lot.
I must keep on rowing, not until I reach port but until I reach my grave.
[On Italian:] One may almost call it a language that talks of itself, and always seems more witty than its speakers.
I do not want an echo of myself from my children. I do not want to hear from them merely the reverberation of my own voice.
Tombs decked by the arts can scarcely represent death as a formidable enemy; we do not, indeed, like the ancients, carve sports and dances in the sarcophagus, but thought is diverted from the bier by works that tell of immortality, even from the altar of death.