Rome is one enormous mausoleum. There, the Past lies visibly stretched upon his bier. There is no today or tomorrow in Rome; it is perpetual yesterday.
They fail, and they alone, who have not striven.
No bird has ever uttered note That was not in some first bird’s throat; Since Eden’s freshness and man’s fall No rose has been original.
There must be such a thing as a child with average ability, but you can’t find a parent who will admit that it is his child.
Civilization is the lamb’s skin in which barbarism masquerades.
The ocean moans over dead men’s bones.
Everyone ought to wish to marry; some ought to be allowed to marry; and others ought to marry twice – to make the average good.
The dead play a very prominent part in the experience of the wanderer abroad. The houses in which they were born, the tombs in which they lie, the localities they made famous by their good or evil deeds, and the works their genius left behind them are necessarily the chief shrines of his pilgrimage.
In every age have mighty spirits dwelt unseen with man, biding the hour that needed them.
A man should have duties outside of himself; without them, he is a mere balloon, inflated with thin egotism and drifting nowhere.