Pain may be said to follow pleasure as its shadow.

There were moments of despondency when Shakespeare thought himself no poet, and Raphael no painter; when the greatest wits have doubted the excellence of their happiest efforts.

Persecuting bigots may be compared to those burning lenses which Lenhenboeck and others composed from ice; by their chilling apathy they freeze the suppliant; by their fiery zeal they burn the sufferer.

Falsehood is often rocked by truth, but she soon outgrows her cradle and discards her nurse.

Success seems to be that which forms the distinction between confidence and conceit.

It is always easy to shut a book, but not quite so easy to get rid of a lettered coxcomb.

Habit will reconcile us to everything but change