The Deafest Man Can Hear Praise, And

He Who Brings Ridicule To Bear Against Truth Finds In His Hand A Blade Without A Hilt. The Most Sparkling And Pointed Flame Of Wit Flickers And Expires Against The Incombustible Walls Of Her Sanctuary.

Clear Writers, Like Fountains, Do Not Seem So Deep As They Are; The Turbid Look The Most Profound.

I Warmed Both Hands Before The Fire Of Life; It Sinks, And I Am Ready To Depart.

Nothing Is Pleasanter To Me Than Exploring In A Library.

I Would Recommend A Free Commerce Both Of Matter And Mind. I Would Let Men Enter Their Own Churches With The Same Freedom As Their Own Houses; And I Would Do It Without A Homily Or Graciousness Or Favor, For Tyranny Itself Is To Me A Word Less Odious Than Toleration.