Wit is an unexpected explosion of thought.

In activity we must find our joy as well as glory; and labor, like everything else that is good, is its own reward.

The familiar writer is apt to be his own satirist. Out of his own mouth is he judged.

In most old communities there is a common sense even in sensuality. Vice itself gets gradually digested into a system, is amenable to certain laws of conventional propriety and honor, has for its object simply the gratification of its appetites, and frowns with quite a conservative air on all new inventions, all untried experiments in iniquity.

There is a natural disposition with us to judge an author's personal character by the character of his works. We find it difficult to understand the common antithesis of a good writer and a bad man.

Felicity, not fluency of language, is a merit.

From Lucifer to Jerry Sneak there is not an aspect of evil, imperfection, and littleness which can elude the lights of humor or the lightning of wit.