It is not by the gray of the hair that one knows the age of the heart.

In how large a proportion of creatures is existence composed of one ruling passion, the most agonizing of all sensations--fear.

Why should the soul ever repose? God, its Principle, reposes never.

The more the merely human part of the poet remains a mystery, the more willing is the reverence given to his divine mission.

Fate whirls on the bark, and the rough gale sweeps from the rising tide the lazy calm of thought.

Writers are the main landmarks of the past.

As a general rule, people who flagrantly pretend to anything are the reverse of that which they pretend to. A man who sets up for a saint is sure to be a sinner; and a man who boasts that he is a sinner is sure to have some feeble, maudlin, snivelling bit of saintship about him which is enough to make him a humbug.