The hero is not fed on sweets, Daily his own heart he eats; Chambers of the great are jails, And head-winds right for royal sails.

When I walk up the piazza of Santa Croce I feel as if it were not a Florentine nor an European church but a church built by and for the human race.

A man is but a little thing in the midst of the objects of nature, yet, by the moral quality radiating from his countenance, he may abolish all considerations of magnitude, and in his manners equal the majesty of the world.

We pass for what we are.

The flowering of civilization is the finished man, the man of sense, of grace, of accomplishment, of social power--the gentleman.

No matter how you seem to fatten on a crime, there can never be good for the bee which is bad for the hive.

Every advantage has its tax.