Love Is The Crowning Grace Of Humanity.

Sameness Is The Mother Of Disgust, Variety The Cure.

Death Had His Grudge Against Me, And He Got Up In The Way, Like An Armed Robber, With A Pike In His Hand.

Where Are The Numerous Constructions Erected By Agrippa, Of Which Only The Pantheon Remains? Where Are The Splendorous Palaces Of The Emperors?

Great Errors Seldom Originate But With Men Of Great Minds.

Books Never Pall On Me. They Discourse With Us, They Take Counsel With Us, And Are United To Us By A Certain Living Chatty Familiarity. And Not Only Does Each Book Inspire The Sense That It Belongs To Its Readers, But It Also Suggests The Name Of Others, And One Begets The Desire Of The Other.