Eternity doth wear upon her face the veil of time. They only see the veil, and thus they know not what they stand so near!

We bury love; Forgetfulness grows over it like grass: That is a thing to weep for, not the dead.

In my garden I spend my days, in my library I spend my nights. My interests are divided between my geraniums and my books. With the flower I am in the present; with the book I am in the past.

Not on the stage alone, in the world also, a man's real character comes out best in his asides.

Vanity in its idler moments is benevolent, is as willing to give pleasure as to take it, and accepts as sufficient reward for its services a kind word or an approving smile.

A man can bear a world's contempt when he has that within which says he's worthy. When he contemns himself, there burns the hell.

Eternity doth wear upon her face the veil of time. They only see the veil, and thus they know not what they stand so near!