Happiness and virtue rest upon each other; the best are not only the happiest, but the happiest are usually the best.

Our very wretchedness grows dear to us when suffering for one we love.

Love is on the verge of hate each time it stoops for pardon.

Julius Caesar owed two millions when he risked the experiment of being general in Gaul. If Julius Caesar had not lived to cross the Rubicon, and pay off his debts, what would his creditors have called Julius Caesar?

Fine natures are like fine poems; a glance at the first two lines suffices for a guess into the beauty that waits you if you read on.

Bu is a word that cools many a warm impulse, stifles many a kindly thought, puts a dead stop to many a brotherly deed. No one would ever love his neighbor as himself if he listened to all the Buts that could be said.

Poets alone are sure of immortality; they are the truest diviners of nature.