The busiest of living agents are certain dead men's thoughts.

The lively and mercurial are as open books, with the leaves turned down at the notable passages. Their souls sit at the windows of their eyes, seeing and to be seen.

The loveliest faces are to be seen by moonlight, when one sees half with the eye and half with the fancy.

Women seldom forfeit their claims to respect to men whom they respect.

Truth, like the sun, submits to be obscured; but, like the sun, only for a time.

A genuine passion is like a mountain stream; it admits of no impediment; it cannot go backward; it must go forward.

The life even of a just man is a round of petty frauds; that of a knave a series of greater. We degrade life by our follies and vices, and then complain that the unhappiness which is only their accompaniment is inherent in the constitution of things.