Once we dreamt that we were strangers. We wake up to find that we were dear to each other.

I have spent many days stringing and unstringing my instrument while the song I came to sing remains unsung.

The majority merely disagreed with other people's proposals$$$ and$$$ as so often happens in these disasters$$$ the best course always seemed the one for which it was now too late.

All ancient history was written with a moral object; the ethical interest predominates almost to the exclusion of all others.

Rarely will two or three tribes confer to repulse a common danger. Accordingly they fight individually and are collectively conquered.

So obscure are the greatest events$$$ as some take for granted any hearsay$$$ whatever its source$$$ others turn truth into falsehood$$$ and both errors find encouragement with posterity.

Love is an endless mystery$$$ because there is no reasonable cause that could explain it.

There is a time for silence. There is a time for waiting your turn. But if you know how you feel and you so clearly know what you need to say you'll know it. I don't think you should wait. I think you should speak now.

Real love still happens sometimes. It's not just something we make up when you're nine. I have to believe that. You do too.

I heartily hate and detest that animal called man$$$ although I heartily love John$$$ Peter$$$ Thomas$$$ ans so forth.