The first pale blossom of the unripened year.

The well taught philosophic mind To all compassion gives; Casts round the world an equal eye, And feels for all that lives.

if an author would have us feel a strong degree of compassion, his characters must not be too perfect.

You speak of beginning the education of your son. The moment he was able to form an idea his education was already begun. . . .

The dead of midnight is the noon of thought.

Nobody ought to be too old to improve: I should be sorry if I was; and I flatter myself I have already improved considerably by my travels. First, I can swallow gruel soup, egg soup, and all manner of soups, without making faces much. Secondly, I can pretty well live without tea.

Forgotten rimes, and college themes, Worm-eaten plans, and embryo schemes; A mass of heterogeneous matter. A chaos dark, nor land nor water.