Summer, as my friend Coleridge waggishly writes, has set in with its usual severity.

When thus the heart is in a vein Of tender thought, the simplest strain Can touch it with peculiar power.

I'd like to grow very old as slowly as possible.

Man is a gaming animal.

A man may do very well with a very little knowledge, and scarce be found out in mixed company; everybody is so much more ready to produce his own, than to call for a display of your acquisitions.

Not many sounds in life, and I include all urban and all rural sounds, exceed in interest a knock at the door.

The beggar wears all colors fearing none.