Poverty has strange bedfellows.

Emulation, even in brutes, is sensitively "nervous." See the tremor of the thoroughbred racer before he starts. The dray-horse does not tremble, but he does not emulate. It is not his work to run a race. Says Marcus Antoninus, "It is all one to a stone whether it be thrown upward or downward." Yet the emulation of a man of genius is seldom with his contemporaries, that is, inwardly in his mind, although outwardly in his act it would seem so. The competitors with whom his secret ambition seems to vie are the dead.

Tell me, sweet eyes, from what divinest star did ye drink in your liquid melancholy?

The veil which covers the face of futurity is woven by the hand of mercy.

O woman! woman! thou shouldest have few sins of thine own to answer for! Thou art the author of such a book of follies in a man that it would need the tears of all the angels to blot the record out.

The mate for beauty should be a man and not a money chest.

Love creates, love cements, love enters and harmonizes all things.