We are poor, indeed, when we have no half-wishes left us. The heart and the imagination close the shutters the instant they are gone.

The vain poet is of the opinion that nothing of his can be too much: he sends to you basketful after basketful of juiceless fruit, covered with scentless flowers.

Falsehood is for a season.

If in argument we can make a man angry with us, we have drawn him from his vantage ground and overcome him.

Tyrants never perish from tyranny, but always from folly,-when their fantasies have built up a palace for which the earth has no foundation.

Harmonious words render ordinary ideas acceptable; less ordinary, pleasant; novel and ingenious ones, delightful. As pictures and statues, and living beauty, too, show better by music-light, so is poetry irradiated, vivified, glorified', and raised into immortal life by harmony.

Truth sometimes corner unawares upon Caution, and sometimes speaks in public as unconsciously as in a dream.