Man is a gaming animal. He must always be trying to get the better in something or other.

I hate a man who swallows [his food], affecting not to know what he is eating. I suspect his taste in higher matters.

I could never hate anyone I knew.

So near are the boundaries of panegyric and invective, that a worn-out sinner is sometimes found to make the best declaimer against sin. The same high-seasoned descriptions which in his unregenerate state served to inflame his appetites, in his new province of a moralist will serve him (a little turned) to expose the enormity of those appetites in other men.

Pain is life - the sharper, the more evidence of life.

The world meets nobody half way.

Can we ring the bells backward? Can we unlearn the arts that pretend to civilize, and then burn the world? There is a march of science; but who shall beat the drums for its retreat?