No man came across two ideal things. Few come across one.
No need to waste the foolish tear, Or heave the windy sigh: The man had killed the thing he loved, And so he had to die. And all men kill the thing they love, By all let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word, The coward does it with a kiss, The brave man with a sword!
Nowadays, people read too many books to appreciate any.
Any fool can make history, but it takes a genius to write it.
The trouble with Marxism is that it takes up too many evenings.