English physicians kill you, the French let you die.

To sigh, yet feel no pain; To weep, yet scarce know why; To sport an hour with Beauty's chain, Then throw it idly by.

Judge not man by his outward manifestation of faith; for some there are who tremblingly reach out shaking hands to the guidance of faith; others who stoutly venture in the dark their human confidence, their leader, which they mistake for faith; some whose hope totters upon crutches; others who stalk into futurity upon stilts. The difference is chiefly constitutional with them.

'T is sweet to think that where'er we rove We are sure to find something blissful and dear; And that when we 're far from the lips we love, We 've but to make love to the lips we are near.

I cannot sit and think; books think for me.

I hate a man who swallows [his food], affecting not to know what he is eating. I suspect his taste in higher matters.

And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.