To lose one's self in reverie, one must be either very happy, or very unhappy. Reverie is the child of extremes.
Opinions, theories, and systems pass by turns over the grindstone of time, which at first gives them brilliancy and sharpness, but finally wears them out.
Memory always obeys the commands of the heart.
It is the dim haze of mystery that adds enchantment to pursuit.
Poverty treads close upon the heels of great and unexpected wealth.
To be ungrateful is to be unnatural. The head may be thus guilty, not the heart.