Is the world all grown up? Is childhood dead? Or is there not in the bosom of the wisest and the best some of the child's heart left, to respond to its earliest enchantments?

Not childhood alone, but the young man till thirty, never feels practically that he is mortal.

(The pig) hath a fair sepulchre in the grateful stomach of the judicious epicure - and for such a tomb might be content to die.

Books which are no books.

A child's nature is too serious a thing to admit of its being regarded as a mere appendage to another being.

Books think for me. I can read anything which I call a book.

Tis the privilege of friendship to talk nonsense, and to have nonsense respected.