History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.

History is a cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of man.

The past grows gradually around one, like a placenta for dying.

The past grows gradually around one, like a placenta for dying.

It often happens that those of whom we speak least on earth are best known in heaven.

It often happens that those of whom we speak least on earth are best known in heaven.

For historians ought to be precise, truthful, and quite unprejudiced, and neither interest nor fear, hatred nor affection, should cause read more

For historians ought to be precise, truthful, and quite unprejudiced, and neither interest nor fear, hatred nor affection, should cause them to swerve from the path of truth, whose mother is history, the rival of time, the depository of great actions, the witness of what is past, the example and instruction of the present, the monitor of the future.

I cannot sing the old songs, Or dream those dreams again,.

I cannot sing the old songs, Or dream those dreams again,.

Let my name stand among those who are willing to bear ridicule and reproach for the truth's sake, and so read more

Let my name stand among those who are willing to bear ridicule and reproach for the truth's sake, and so earn some right to rejoice when the victory is won.

We will hereafter believe less history than ever, now that we have seen how it is made.

We will hereafter believe less history than ever, now that we have seen how it is made.

What is all our histories, but God showing himself, shaking and trampling on everything that he has not planted.

What is all our histories, but God showing himself, shaking and trampling on everything that he has not planted.

The history of mankind is little else than a narrative of designs which have failed and hopes that have been read more

The history of mankind is little else than a narrative of designs which have failed and hopes that have been disappointed.