It is love; love, the comfort of the human species, the preserver of the universe, the soul of all sentient beings, love, tender love.
Men, generally going with the stream, seldom judge for themselves, and purity of taste is almost as rare as talent.
A small number of choice books are sufficient.
Errors flies from mouth to mouth, from pen to pen, and to destroy it takes ages.
Life is bristling with thorns, and I know no other remedy than to cultivate one's garden.
Love truth, but pardon error.