I go into my library, and all history unrolls before me. I breathe the morning air of the world while the scent of Eden's roses yet lingered in it, while it vibrated only to the world's first brood of nightingales, and to the laugh of Eve.

A man's real possession is his memory. In nothing else is he rich, in nothing else is he poor.

Everything is sweetened by risk.

If you wish to preserve your secret, wrap it up in frankness.

I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory.