To write for a living, according to Mr. Whipple, is coquetting with starvation.

The ignorant ever shun and dread the gifted and enlightened.

How much of love lies buried in dusty graves!

Real merit requires as much labor, to be placed in a true light, as humbug to be elevated to an unworthy eminence; only the success of the false is temporary, that of the true, immortal.

To write for a living, according to Mr. Whipple, is coquetting with starvation.

The highest art is artlessness.

If you tell a woman she is beautiful, whisper it softly, for if the devil hears, he will echo it many times.