Troubles forereckoned are doubly suffered.

To death we owe our life; the passing of one generation opens a way for another.

The past is the sepulchre of our dead emotions.

A profusion of fancies and quotations is out of place in a love-letter. True feeling is always direct, and never deviates into by-ways to cull flowers of rhetoric.

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.

He that shrinks from the grave with too great a dread, has an invisible fear behind him pushing him into it.

A better principle than this, that "the majority shall rule," is this other, that justice shall rule. "Justice," says the code of Justinian, "is the constant and perpetual desire to render every man his due.