And Modesty, Who, When She Goes, Is

Modesty And Diffidence Make A Man Unfit For Public Affairs; They Also Make Him Unfit For Brothels.

There Is No Eloquence Which Does Not Agitate The Soul.

Truth Is A Point, The Subtlest And Finest; Harder Than Adamant; Never To Be Broken, Worn Away, Or Blunted. Its Only Bad Quality Is, That It Is Sure To Hurt Those Who Touch It; And Likely To Draw Blood, Perhaps The Life Blood, Of Those Who Press Earnestly Upon It.

The Moderate Are Not Usually The Most Sincere, For The Same Circumspection Which Makes Them Moderate Makes Them Likewise Retentive Of What Could Give Offence.

Why Cannot We Be Delighted With An Author, And Even Feel A Predilection For Him, Without A Dislike Of Others? An Admiration Of Catullus Or Virgil, Of Tibullus Or Ovid, Is Never To Be Heightened By A Discharge Of Bile On Horace.