Our friends, the enemy.

Flow wine, smile woman, and the universe is consoled.

Glory is a shroud that posterity often tears from the shoulders of those who wore it when living.

Our century is a brutal thinker.

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.

What divides men is less a difference in ideas than a likeness in pretensions.