Clap an extinguisher upon your irony if you are unhappily blessed with a vein of it.

I counsel thee, shut not thy heart, nor thy library.

I am accounted by some people as a good man. How cheap that character is acquired! Pay your debts, don't borrow money, nor twist your kitten's neck off, nor disturb a congregation, etc., your business is done. I know things of myself, which would make every friend I have fly me as a plague patient.

Riches are chiefly good because they give us time.

A book reads the better which is our own, and has been so long known to us, that we know the topography of its blots, and dog's ears, and can trace the dirt in it to having read it at tea with buttered muffins.

The English writer, Charles Lamb, said one day: "I hate that man." "But you don't know him." "Of course, I don't," said Lamb. "Do you think I could possibly hate a man I know?"

I conceive disgust at these impertinent and misbecoming familiarities inscribed upon your ordinary tombstone.