Each famous author of antiquity whom I recover places a new offence and another cause of dishonor to the charge of earlier generations, who, not satisfied with their own disgraceful barrenness, permitted the fruit of other minds, and the writings that their ancestors had produced by toil and application, to perish through insufferable neglect. Although they had nothing of their own to hand down to those who were to come after, they robbed posterity of its ancestral heritage.

Where you are is of no moment, but only what you are doing there. It is not the place that ennobles you, but you the place, and this only by doing that which is great and noble.

I desire that death find me ready and writing, or if it please Christ, praying and intears.

Often have I wondered with much curiosity as to our coming into this world and what will follow our departure.

For style beyond the genius never dares.

Perhaps out there, somewhere, someone is sighing for your absence; and with this thought, my soul begins to breathe.

Man has not a greater enemy than himself.