Marriage, by making us more contented, causes us often to be less enterprising.

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.

Hunting is a relic of the barbarism that once thirsted for human blood, but is now content with the blood of animals.

Tis but a short journey across the isthmus of Now.

There are ceremonious bows that repel one like a cudgel.

Wine is a treacherous friend who you must always be on guard for.

The language of the heart--the language which "comes from the heart" and "goes to the heart"--is always simple, always graceful, and always full of power, but no art of rhetoric can teach it. It is at once the easiest and most difficult language--difficult, since it needs a heart to speak it; easy, because its periods though rounded and full of harmony, are still unstudied.