Old age transfigures or fossilizes.

The incurable ills are the imaginary ills.

All that is due to us will be paid, although not perhaps by those to whom we have lent.

Pity is love in undress.

We ask the poet: 'What subject have you chosen?' instead of: 'What subject has chosen you?

There are times when to be reasonable is to be cowardly.

Fear not those who argue but those who dodge.