All roads indeed lead to Rome, but theirs also is a more mystical destination, some bourne of which no traveller knows the name, some city, they all seem to hint, even more eternal.

Races and nations are thus ever ready to believe the worst of one another.

Stay the course, light a star, Change the world where'er you are.

We have, of course, long since ceased to think of Nature as the sympathetic mirror of our moods, or to imagine that she has any concern with the temporal affairs of man.

You can't fake it. Bad writing is a gift.

A wholesome oblivion of one's neighbours is the beginning of wisdom.

In their work, then, as in their play, men and women are more and more coming to share with each other as comrades, and really the fun of life seems in no wise diminished as a consequence.