Seated in my library at night, and looking on the silent faces of my books, I am occasionally visited by a strange sense of the supernatural.

To have to die is a distinction of which no man is proud.

My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.

A thought may be very commendable as a thought, but I value it chiefly as a window through which I can obtain insight on the thinker.

We are never happy; we can only remember that we were so once.

There is no ghost so difficult to lay as the ghost of an injury.

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!