The flame of anger, bright and brief, sharpens the barb of love.
There is a vast deal of vital air in loving words.
Clear writers, like fountains, do not seem so deep as they are; the turbid look the most profound.
Where power is absent we may find the robe of genius, but we miss the throne.
Even the weakest disputant is made so conceited by what he calls religion, as to think himself wiser than the wisest who thinks differently from him.
Do not expect to be acknowledged for what you are, much less for what you would be; since no one can well measure a great man but upon the bier.