Trees that, like the poplar, lift upward all their boughs, give no shade and no shelter, whatever their height. Trees the most lovingly shelter and shade us, when, like the willow, the higher soar their summits, the lower drop their boughs.

When you borrow on your character, it is your character that you leave in pawn.

We lose the peace of years when we hunt after the rapture of moments.

Genius has no brother.

As the films of clay are removed from our eyes, Death loses the false aspect of the spectre, and we fall at last into its arms as a wearied child upon the bosom of its mother.

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.

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