Clemency (n.) is the mind's moderation when it has the power to take revenge.
Clemency (n.) in a prince is self-mercy: you spare yourself when you are seen to spare another.
Clemency (n.) needs no reason: where I can find no cause for pity, I am merciful for my own sake.
Clemency (n.) is not the opposite of strictness — no virtue is the opposite of another; its opposite is cruelty.
Clemency (n.) is not leniency about others' wrongs but not pouncing when you yourself are goaded — as generosity gives at its own cost, not another's.
Clemency (n.) in a ruler makes men blush to do wrong: punishment feels far more grievous when ordained by a mild man.
Clemency (n.) is not exhausted cruelty: true clemency never spilled a fellow citizen's blood and does not start from regret for past savagery.
Clemency (n.) is the lesson of the king bee: nature took away his sting and left his anger unarmed — a lesson for great kings.
Clemency (n.) is the opposite remedy, to try when the usual prescriptions fail: strictness has gotten you nowhere — forgive Cinna.
Clemency (n.) is at once the adornment of supreme power and its surest security — why else do kings grow old and bequeath their thrones while tyrants' power is short-lived?
Clemency (n.) is more complete than pardon: it doesn't excuse the guilty but declares that those it lets go ought not to have suffered anything else.
Clemency (n.) suits a human being better than any virtue, because none is more humane — even the Epicurean finds it in his nature, since it loves peace and keeps our hands to ourselves.
Clemency (n.) is the one good that the greatest and the least expect equally: no one is so complacent about his own innocence that he does not rejoice to see it stand ready.