Love Can Sun The Realms Of Night.

Worthless Is The Nation That Does Not Gladly Stake Its All On Its Honor.

The Painter Is, As To The Execution Of His Work, A Mechanic; But As To His Conception And Spirit And Design He Is Hardly Below Even The Poet.

His Saying Was: Live And Let Live.

Revenge Is Barren Of Itself: It Is The Dreadful Food It Feeds On; Its Delight Is Murder, And Its End Is Despair.

Yet Have I Ever Heard It Said That Spies And Tale-bearers Have Done More Mischief In This World Than Poisoned Bowl Or The Assassin's Dagger.