Books think for me. I can read anything which I call a book.
Presents, I often say, endear absents.
Your absence of mind we have borne, till your presence of body came to be called in question by it.
A presentation copy, reader,-if haply you are yet innocent of such favours-is a copy of a book which does not sell, sent you by the author.
If there be a regal solitude, it is a sick-bed. How the patient lords it there!
No one ever regarded the First of January with indifference. It is that from which all date their time, and count upon what is left. It is the nativity of our common Adam.