Books which are no books.

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

Here cometh April again, and as far as I can see the world hath more fools in it than ever.

How convalescence shrinks a man back to his pristine stature! where is now the space, which he occupied so lately, in his own, in the family's eye?

In the indications of female poverty there can be no disguise. No woman dresses below herself from caprice.

Literature is a bad crutch, but a good walking-stick.

The pilasters reaching down were adorned with a glistering substance (I know not what) under glass (as it seemed), resembling - a homely fancy, but I judged it to be sugar-candy; yet to my raised imagination, divested of its homelier qualities, it appeared a glorified candy.