To be sick is to enjoy monarchical prerogatives.

We grow gray in our spirit long before we grow gray in our hair.

I give thee all,-I can no more, Though poor the off'ring be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee.

I hate the man who eats without knowing what he’s eating. I doubt his taste in more important things.

Who first invented work, and bound the free And holiday-rejoicing spirit down . . . . To that dry drudgery at the desk's dead wood? . . . . Sabbathless Satan!

A man may do very well with a very little knowledge, and scarce be found out in mixed company; everybody is so much more ready to produce his own, than to call for a display of your acquisitions.

A man cannot have a pure mind who refuses apple dumplings.