Love, though said to be afflicted with blindness, is a vigilant watchman.

The memories which peaceful country scenes call up, are not of this world, nor of its thoughts and hopes. Their gentle influence may teach us how to weave fresh garlands for the graves of those we loved: may purify our thoughts, and bear down before it old enmity and hatred; but beneath all this, there lingers, in the least reflective mind, a vague and half-formed consciousness of having held such feelings long before, in some remote and distant time, which calls up solemn thoughts of distant times to come, and bends down pride and worldliness beneath it.

I will live in the past, the present, and the future. The spirits of all three shall strive within me.

Happiness is a gift and the trick is not to expect it, but to delight in it when it comes.

We are so very 'umble.

... Arthur Gride, whose bleared eyes gloated only over the outward beauties, and were blind to the spirit which reigned within, evinced - a fantastic kind of warmth certainly, but not exactly that kind of warmth of feeling which the contemplation of virtue usually inspires.

Liberty, equality, fraternity, or death; - the last, much the easiest to bestow, O Guillotine!