Poetry is truth in its Sunday clothes.
Interest, ambition, fortune, time, temper, love, all kill friendship.
Evil often triumphs, but never conquers.
Nothing vivifies, and nothing kills, like the emotions.
The historian must be a poet; not to find, but to find again; not to breathe life into beings, into imaginary deeds, but in order to re-animate and revive that which has been; to represent what time and space have placed at a distance from us.
To love is to choose.