Glory is a shroud that posterity often tears from the shoulders of those who wore it when living.
What divides men is less a difference in ideas than a likeness in pretensions.
When in our days Religion is made a political engine, she exposes herself to having her sacred character forgotten. The most tolerant become intolerant towards her. Believers, who believe something else besides what she teaches, retaliate by attacking her in the very sanctuary itself.
Many have lived on a pedestal who will never have a statue when dead.
A man's reception depends upon his coat; his dismissal upon the wit he shows.
Old age doth in sharp pains abound; We are belabored by the gout, Our blindness is a dark profound, Our deafness each one laughs about. Then reason's light with falling ray Doth but a trembling flicker cast. Honor to age, ye children pay! Alas! my fifty years are past!
Adieu! 'tis love's last greeting, The parting hour is come! And fast thy soul is fleeting To seek its starry home.
Gaily! gaily! close our ranks! Arm! Advance! Hope of France! Gaily! gaily! closed our ranks! Onward! Onward! Gauls and Franks!
Paradise is open to all kind hearts.
Our friends, the enemy.
Our century is a brutal thinker.
Flow wine, smile woman, and the universe is consoled.
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