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.

Care, admitted as guest, quickly turns to be master.

The cure for tender sensibilities is to make more of our objects and less of our selves.

There is no sense of weariness like that which closes in a day of eager and unintermittent pursuit of pleasure. The apple is eaten, but "the core sticks in the throat." Expectation has then given way to ennui, appetite to satiety.

Common sense, alas in spite of our educational institutions, is a rare commodity.

It is seldom that we find out how great are our resources until we are thrown upon them.

Complaint is. more contemptible than pitiful.