If a man urge me to tell wherefore I loved him, I feel it cannot be expressed but by answering: Because it was he, because it was myself.
If you press me to say why I loved him, I can say no more than because he was he, and I was I.
Age imprints more wrinkles in the mind than it does on the face.
How many condemnations I have witnessed more criminal than the crime!
We only labor to stuff the memory, and leave the conscience and the understanding unfurnished and void.
Unless a man feels he has a good enough memory, he should never venture to lie.
