People praise us behind our backs, but we hear them not; few before our faces, and who is not suspicious of the truth of such praise?

Music, once admitted to the soul, becomes a sort of spirit, and never dies.

My father died shortly after I was twenty-one; and being left well off, and having a taste for travel and adventure, I resigned, for a time, all pursuit of the almighty dollar, and became a desultory wanderer over the face of the earth.

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

Revenge is a common passion; it is the sin of the uninstructed.

He who doth not smoke hath either known no great griefs, or refuseth himself the softest consolation, next to that which comes from heaven.

Of all the virtues necessary to the completion of the perfect man, there is none to be more delicately implied and less ostentatiously vaunted than that of exquisite feeling or universal benevolence.