Let ancient times delight other folk, I rejoice that I was not born till now.
To wish is of little account; to succeed you must earnestly desire; and this desire must shorten thy sleep.
Our native soil draws all of us, by I know not what sweetness, and never allows us to forget.
It is the mind that makes the man, and our vigour is in our immortal soul.
You will be melancholy, if you are solitary.
It is no less a feat to keep what you have, than to increase it. In one there is chance, the other will be a work of art.