We are all of us, in this world, more or less like St. January, whom the inhabitants of Naples worship one day, and pelt with baked apples the next.

Old age is not one of the beauties of creation, but it is one of its harmonies.

Antiquity is a species of aristocracy with which it is not easy to be on visiting terms.

I love victory, but I love not triumph.

God has prohibited despair.

Let us not fail to scatter along our pathway the seeds of kindness and sympathy. Some of them will doubtless perish; but if one only lives, it will perfume our steps and rejoice our eyes.

To reveal imprudently the spot where we are most sensitive and vulnerable is to invite a blow. The demigod Achilles admitted no one to his confidence.