A laugh is worth a hundred groans in any market.

The only true time which a man can properly call his own, is that which he has all to himself; the rest, though in some sense he may be said to live it, is other people's time, not his.

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

Merit, God knows, is very little rewarded.

This is the magnanimity of authorship, when a writer having a topic presented to him, fruitful of beauties for common minds, waives his privilege, and trusts to the judicious few for understanding the reason of his abstinence.

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?"

The teller of a mirthful tale has latitude allowed him. We are content with less than absolute truth.