Glories, like glow-worms afar off, shine bright, but looked at near have neither heat nor light.
I do love these ancient ruins. — We never tread upon them but we set our foot upon some reverend history.
We are merely the stars tennis-balls, struck and bandied which way please them.
Who fights with passions and overcomes, that man is armed with the best virtue — passive fortitude.
The chiefest action for a man of spirit is never to be out of action; the soul was never put into the body to stand still.
Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burn brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweethearts, are surest, and old lovers are soundest.
In all our quest of greatness, like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, we follow after bubbles, blown in the air.
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