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With conscious pride I view the band
Of faithful friends that round me stand,
With pride exult that I alone
Can join these scattered gems in one;
For they're a wreath of pearls, and I
The silken cord on which they lie.
'Tis mine their inmost souls to see,
Unlocked is every heart to me,
To me they cling, on me they rest,
And I've a place in every breast.
For they're a wreath of pearls, and I
The silken cord on which they lie.
—From the Arabic.
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What room can there be for friendship, or who can be a friend to any one whom he does not love for his own sake? And what is loving, from which verb (amo) the very name of friendship (amicitia) is derived, but wishing a certain person to enjoy the greatest possible good fortune, even if none of it accrues to one's self?
—Cicero.
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What makes us so changeable in our friendships is the difficulty we have in discerning the qualities of the heart, and the ease with which we discern those of the mind.
—La Rochefoucauld.
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