Reason is the historian, but passions are the actors.

Obtuseness is sometimes a virtue.

Rumor, once started, rushes on like a river, until it mingles with, and is lost in the sea.

That which happens to the soil when it ceases to be cultivated by the social man happens to man himself when he foolishly forsakes society for solitude; the brambles grow up in his desert heart.

True felicity consists of its own consciousness.

The world is governed by love,--self-love.

There is nothing so unready as readiness of wit.