Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks.

When one is transported by rage, it is best to observe attentively the effects on those who deliver themselves over to the same passion.

It is easy to utter what has been kept silent, but impossible to recall what has been uttered.

Not by lamentations and mournful chants ought we to celebrate the funeral of a good man, but by hymns; for, ion ceasing to be numbered with mortals, he enters upon the heritage of a diviner life. Since he is gone where he feels no pain, let us not indulge in too much grief. The soul is incapable of death. And he, like a bird not long enough in his cage to become attached to it, is free to fly away to a purer air. . . . Since we cherish a trust like this, let our outward actions be in accord with it, and let us keep our hearts pure and our minds calm.

Courage stands halfway between cowardice and rashness, one of which is a lack, the other an excess of courage.

Let a prince be guarded with soldiers, attended by councillors, and shut up in forts; yet if his thoughts disturb him, he is miserable.

Rather I fear on the contrary that while we banish painful thoughts we may banish memory as well.