He who suffers, remembers.
The harvest of old age is the recollection and abundance of blessing previously secured.
In fact the whole passion ordinarily termed love (and heaven help me if I can think of any other term to apply to it) is of such exceeding triviality that I see nothing that I think comparable with it.
Those who do not know history will forever remain children
We should be careful that our benevolence does not exceed our means.
It has seemed to be more necessary to have regard to the weight of words rather than to their number.