Panic is a sudden desertion of us, and a going over to the enemy of our imagination.

The beauty seen is partly in him who sees it. [a predisposition to notice the beautiful, in everything.]

Wit must be without effort. Wit is play, not work; a nimbleness of the fancy, not a laborious effort of the will; a license, a holiday, a carnival of thought and feeling, not a trifling with speech, a constraint upon language, a duress upon words.

Heaven lent you a soul, Earth will lend a grave.

Tis but a short journey across the isthmus of Now.

Whether one talks well depends very much upon whom he has to talk to.

To quote copiously and well, requires taste, judgment, and erudition, a feeling for the beautiful, an appreciation of the noble, and a sense of the profound.