A man's reception depends upon his coat; his dismissal upon the wit he shows.

Adieu! 'tis love's last greeting, The parting hour is come! And fast thy soul is fleeting To seek its starry home.

When in our days Religion is made a political engine, she exposes herself to having her sacred character forgotten. The most tolerant become intolerant towards her. Believers, who believe something else besides what she teaches, retaliate by attacking her in the very sanctuary itself.

A man's reception depends upon his coat; his dismissal upon the wit he shows.

Paradise is open to all kind hearts.

Our century is a brutal thinker.

Our friends, the enemy.