When new turns of behavior cease to appear in the life of the individual, its behavior ceases to be intelligent.

Heroes, it would seem, exist always and a certain worship of them.

Fame, we may understand, is no sure test of merit, but only a probability of such: it is an accident, not a property, of a man; like light, it can give little or nothing, but at most may show what is given.

With respect to duels, indeed, I have my own ideas. Few things in this so surprising world strike me with more surprise. Two little visual spectra of men, hovering with insecure enough cohesion in the midst of the unfathomable, and to dissolve therein, at any rate, very soon, make pause at the distance of twelve paces asunder; whirl around, and simultaneously by the cunningest mechanism, explode one another into dissolution; and, offhand, become air, and non-extant--the little spitfires!

No good book, or good thing of any sort, shows its best face at first.

Why tell me that a man is a fine speaker, if it is not the truth that he is speaking?

May blessings be upon the head of Cadmus, the Phoenicians, or whoever it was that invented books.