Mortal beauty stings while it delights.

Out of politics comes more uproar than progress. It is indeed surprising how little, comparatively, this noisy department of human affairs contributes to the world's prosperity. Political commotions upon the grandest scale, political events of astounding suddenness, political characters of the greatest ability, abound, but still, permanent results are rare, and we look in vain for a measure of public good corresponding in extent to the hideous rout which ushers it in. Progress but turns upon its pillow, and goes to sleep again.

Successful love takes a load off our hearts, and puts it upon our shoulders.

I once asked a distinguished artist what place he gave to labor in art. "Labor," he in effect said, "is the beginning, the middle, and the end of art." Turning then to another--"And you," I inquired, "what do you consider as the great force in art?" "Love," he replied. In their two answers I found but one truth.

Next to being witty, the best thing is being able to quote another's wit.

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

Without death in the world, existence in it would soon become, through over-population, the most frightful of curses.