One never hugs one's good luck so affectionately as when listening to the relation of some horrible misfortunes which has overtaken others.

Looking forward into an empty year strikes one with a certain awe, because one finds therein no recognition. The years behind have a friendly aspect, and they are warmed by the fires we have kindled, and all their echoes are the echoes of our own voices.

In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October.

Fame is but an inscription on a grave, and glory the melancholy blazon on a coffin lid.

To be occasionally quoted is the only fame I care for.

There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.

In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October, when the trees are bare to the mild heavens, and the red leaves bestrew the road, and you can feel the breath of winter, morning and evening - no days so calm, so tenderly solemn, and with such a reverent meekness in the air.