There is no book so bad that it is not profitable in some part. -Nullus est liber tam malus ut non aliqua parte prosit
There is no grief which time does not lessen and soften.
[Lat., Nullus dolor est quem non longinquitas temporis minuat ac molliat.]
If a man does not know to what port he is steering, no wind is favorable to him. Ignoranti quem portum petat, nullus suus ventus est.
There is no place more delightful than home.
A geometry implies the heterogeneity of locus, namely that there is a locus of the Other. Regarding this locus of the Other, of one sex as Other, as absolute Other, what does the most recent development in topology allow us to posit?
The home is the empire! There is no peace more delightful than one's own fireplace.
What more delightful avocation than to take a piece of land and by cautious experimentation to prove how it works. What more substantial service to conservation than to practice it on one's own land?
That is what the highest criticism really is, the record of one's own soul. It is more fascinating than history, as it is concerned simply with oneself. It is more delightful than philosophy, as its subject is concrete and not abstract, real and not vague. It is the only civilized form of autobiography.
That dog is mine said those poor children; that place in the sun is mine; such is the beginning and type of usurpation throughout the earth.
[Fr., Ce chien est a moi, disaient ces pauvres enfants; c'est la ma place au soleil. Voila le commencement et l'image de l'usurpation de toute la terre.]
There's just no more compelling a story, no more compelling an issue, no more compelling a locus of human suffering than Sudan.
It's not even that finding laundry pleasurable or delightful should be our goal rather than finding television delightful. It's that both laundry and television can be delightful.
Vivre est un maladie dont le sommeil nous soulage toutes les 16 heures. C'est un pallatif. La mort est le remede.
God seems to reward us with good, delightful experiences when we move with joy through the less-than-delightful times.
Nihil est incertius vulgo, nihil obscurius voluntate hominum, nihil fallacius ratione tota comitiorum. (Nothing is more unpredictable than the mob, nothing more obscure than public opinion, nothing more deceptive than the whole political system.)
I do not know any reading more easy, more fascinating, more delightful than a catalogue.
C’est moi, c’est moi,’tis I,' I told him. It seemed appropriately melodramatic, though I didn’t know if he’d catch the reference. I shouldn’t have worried. Unexpectedly, he laughed. “Trust you to quote Lancelot rather than Guinevere.