And what will history say of me a thousand years hence?

How sweet it is to have people point and say, “There he is.”

There lurks in every human heart a desire of distinction which inclines every man first to hope and then to believe that nature has given him something peculiar to himself. 

Most authors seek fame, but I seek for justice—a holier impulse than ever entered into the ambitious struggles of the votaries of that fickle, flirting goddess.

Fame will go by and, so long, I’ve had you, fame. If it goes by, I’ve always known it was fickle. So at least it’s something I experienced, but that’s not where I live.

I am sick and tired of publicity. I want no more of it. It puts me in a bad light. I just want to be forgotten.