It was the passions about whose origin we deceived ourselves that tyrannized most strongly over us.

The gods are strange. It is not our vices only they make instruments to scourge us. They bring us to ruin through what in us is good, gentle, humane, loving.

We who live in prison, and in whose lives there is no event but sorrow, have to measure time by throbs of pain, and the record of bitter moments.

Niagara Falls is simply a vast unnecessary amount of water going over the wrong way and then falling over unnecessary cliffs...The wonder would be if the water did not fall.

Before Turner there was no fog in London.

The condition of perfection is idleness: the aim of perfection is youth.

History is merely gossip