Kindness is virtue itself.

Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys.

Ink is the transcript of thought.

Limited in his nature, infinite in his desires, man is a fallen god who remembers the heavens.

Private passions tire and exhaust themselves, public ones never.

The more I see of the representatives of the people, the more I admire my dogs.

Sad is his lot, who, once at least in his life, has not been a poet.