Kings Play At War Unfairly With Republics;

The Happiest Of Pillows Is Not That Which Love First Presses! It Is That Which Death Has Frowned On And Passed Over.

Moroseness Is The Evening Of Turbulence.

Let Me Take Up Your Metaphor. Friendship Is A Vase, Which, When It Is Flawed By Heat Or Violence Or Accident, May As Well Be Broken At Once; It Can Never Be Trusted After. The More Graceful And Ornamental It Was, The More Clearly Do We Discern The Hopelessness Of Restoring It To Its Former State. Coarse Stones, If They Are Fractured, May Be Cemented Again; Precious Stones, Never.

I Would Recommend A Free Commerce Both Of Matter And Mind. I Would Let Men Enter Their Own Churches With The Same Freedom As Their Own Houses; And I Would Do It Without A Homily Or Graciousness Or Favor, For Tyranny Itself Is To Me A Word Less Odious Than Toleration.

Falsehood Is For A Season.