What is love, if it can calculate and provide against its own decay?

in Italy, almost at every step, history and poetry add to the graces of nature, sweeten the memory of the past, and seem to preserve it in eternal youth.

O memory, thou bitter sweet,--both a joy and a scourge!

intellect is a sin that must be atoned for by leading exactly the life of those who have none.

Life, for me, is living among my friends.

When a noble life has prepared old age, it is not decline that it reveals, but the first days of immortality.

The most beautiful landscapes in the world, if they evoke no memory, if they bear no trace of a remarkable event, are uninteresting compared to historic landscapes.