When the soul communes with itself the lip is silent.

Invention is nothing more than a fine deviation from, or enlargement on a fine model . . .

Though no participator in the joy of more vehement sport, I have a pleasure that I cannot reconcile to my abstract notions of the tenderness due to dumb creatures in the tranquil cruelty of angling. I can only palliate the wanton destructiveness of my amusement by trying to assure myself that my pleasure does not spring from the success of the treachery I practise toward a poor little fish, but rather from that innocent revelry in the luxuriance of summer life which only anglers enjoy to the utmost.

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

There is no policy like politeness; and a good manner is the best thing in the world either to get a good name, or to supply the want of it.

Love sacrifices all things to bless the thing it loves.

A sense of contentment makes us kindly and benevolent to others; we are not chafed and galled by cares which are tyrannical because original. We are fulfilling our proper destiny, and those around us feel the sunshine of our own hearts.