The measure of choosing well, is, whether a man likes and finds good in what he has chosen.

No work is worse than overwork; the mind preys on itself,--the most unwholesome of food.

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

Your absence of mind we have borne, till your presence of body came to be called in question by it.

Our spirits grow gray before our hairs.

O money, money, how blindly thou hast been worshipped, and how stupidly abused! Thou are health and liberty and strength, and he that has thee may rattle his pockets at the foul fiend!

If there be a regal solitude, it is a sick-bed. How the patient lords it there!