The real wealth of a nation grows from its soil.

The moment eternal—just that and nothing more.

I must confess that I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her complexion has no brilliancy; and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants character; there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way; and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I could never see anything extraordinary in them.

The work of art is a whisper of the absolute.

In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.