I Love Prudence Very Little, If It

The Lively Phraseology Of Montesquieu Was The Result Of Long Meditation. His Words, As Light As Wings, Bear On Them Grave Reflections.

Poetry Is To Be Found Nowhere Unless We Carry It Within Us.

Tormented By The Cursed Ambition Always To Put A Whole Book In A Page, A Whole Page In A Sentence, And This Sentence In A Word. I Am Speaking Of Myself.

Reason Is A Bee, And Exists Only On What It Makes; His Usefulness Takes The Place Of Beauty.

Attention Is Like A Narrow Mouthed Vessel; Pour Into It What You Have To Say Cautiously, And, As It Were, Drop By Drop.