Death is the ugly fact which Nature has to hide, and she hides it well.

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

Stirling, like a huge brooch, clasps Highlands and Lowlands together.

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.

Love is but the discovery of ourselves in others, and the delight in the recognition.

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.

Winter does not work only on a broad scale; he is careful in trifles.