“Books have led some to learning and others to madness.”

For style beyond the genius never dares.

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.

To begin with myself, then, the utterances of men concerning me will differ widely, since in passing judgment almost every one is influenced not so much by truth as by preference, and good and evil report alike know no bounds.

Mere elegance of language can produce at best but an empty renown.

Alack our life, so beautiful to see, With how much ease life losest, in a day, What many years with pain and toil amassed!

To be able to say how much love, is love but little.

Books can warm the heart with friendly words and counsel, entering into a close relationship with us which is articulate and alive.

Reality is always the foe of famous names.

I freeze and burn, love is bitter and sweet, my sighs are tempests and my tears are floods, I am in ecstasy and agony, I am possessed by memories of her and I am in exile from myself.

Who over-refines his argument brings himself to grief.

The aged love what is practical while impetuous youth longs only for what is dazzling.

It is more honorable to be raised to a throne than to be born to one. Fortune bestows the one, merit obtains the other.

A good death does honour to a whole life.

He loves but lightly who his love can tell.

Ruthless striving, overcomes everything.