The harvest of old age is the recollection and abundance of blessing previously secured.

It is not only arrogant, but it is profligate, for a man to disregard the world's opinion of himself.

We can more easily avenge an injury than requite a kindness; on this account, because there is less difficulty in getting the better of the wicked than in making one's self equal with the good.

There are more men ennobled by study than by nature.

Old age: the crown of life, our play's last act.

Cicero is dead! Cicero is born! The laughter has filled me, filled me so very completely. I am the laughter. I am the jester. The soul that has served as my constant companion for so long has breached the veil of the Void finally and forever. It is now in me. It is me. The world has seen the last of Cicero the man. Behold Cicero, Fool of Hearts - laughter incarnate!

Never can custom conquer nature, for she is ever unconquered.