Might I Have Had My Own Will,

Every Other Knowledge Is Harmful To Him Who Does Not Have Knowledge Of Goodness.

Poetry Reproduces An Indefinable Mood That Is More Amorous Than Love Itself. Venus Is Not So Beautiful All Naked, Alive, And Panting, As She Is Here In Virgil.

We Feel A Kind Of Bittersweet Pricking Of Malicious Delight In Contemplating The Misfortunes Of Others.

Glory Consists Of Two Parts: The One In Setting Too Great A Value Upon Ourselves, And The Other In Setting Too Little A Value Upon Others.

When Socrates, After Being Relieved Of His Irons, Felt The Relish Of The Itching That Their Weight Had Caused In His Legs, He Rejoiced To Consider The Close Alliance Between Pain And Pleasure.