Literature is the expression of society.
There is something marvelously soft in the study of nature which attaches a name to every being, a thought to every name, affection and memories to every thought.
Our years, our debts, and our enemies are always more numerous than we imagine.
Such days of autumnal decline hold a strange mystery which adds to the gravity of all our moods.
The winter will be long and bleak. Nature has a dismal aspect.
After owning books, almost the next best thing is talking about them.