Men Make The Best Friends.

A Heap Of Epithets Is Poor Praise: The Praise Lies In The Facts, And In The Way Of Telling Them.

From Time To Time There Appear On The Face Of The Earth Men Of Rare And Consummate Excellence, Who Dazzle Us By Their Virtue, And Whose Outstanding Qualities Shed A Stupendous Light. Like Those Extraordinary Stars Of Whose Origins We Are Ignorant, And Of Whose Fate, Once They Have Vanished, We Know Even Less, Such Men Have Neither Forebears Nor Descendants: They Are The Whole Of Their Race.

Men Are The Cause Of Women Not Loving One Another. [fr., Les Hommes Sont La Cause Que Les Femmes Ne S'aiment Point.]

There Are Some Souls So Base And Filthy That They Love Gain And Interest As Noble Souls Love Fame And Virtue, Knowing One Pleasure Only, That Of Making Money Or Of Not Losing It; Anxious And Avid For Their Ten Per Cent; Entirely Preoccupied With What Is Owed Them; Forever Concerned About The Depreciation Or Discredit Of Money; Buried, And As It Were Engulfed, Amid Contracts, Title-deeds And Parchments. Such People Are Neither Parents, Friends, Citizens Or Christians, Nor, Perhaps, Even Men; They Merely Have Money.

Eloquence Is To The Sublime What The Whole Is To The Part.