More is got from one book on which the thought settles for a definite end in knowledge, than from libraries skimmed over by a wandering eye.

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

What a rare gift, by the by, is that of manners! how difficult to define, how much more difficult to impart! Better for a man to possess them than wealth, beauty, or talent; they will more than supply all.

When the soul communes with itself the lip is silent.

Sooner mayest thou trust thy pocket to a pickpocket than give loyal friendship to the man who boasts of eyes to the heart never mounts in dew! Only when man weeps he should be alone, not because tears are weak, but they should be secret. Tears are akin to prayer,--Pharisees parade prayers, imposters parade tears.

In life, as in art, the beautiful moves in curves.

What is past is past, there is a future left to all men, who have the virtue to repent and the energy to atone.