Manners make the fortune of the ambitious youth.

Come, see the north-wind's masonry, Out of an unseen quarry evermore Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer Curves his white bastions with projected roof Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he For number or proportion.

Wherever the truth is injured, defend it.

All nobility in its beginnings was somebody's natural superiority.

There the great Planter plants Of fruitful worlds the grain, And with a million spells enchants The souls that walk in pain.

We are born believing. A man bears beliefs as a tree bears apples.

Are you not scared by seeing that the gypsies are more attractive to us than the apostles?