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

There are some professed Christians who would gladly burn their enemies, but yet who forgive them merely because it is heaping coals of fire on their heads.

The highest art is artlessness.

The ignorant ever shun and dread the gifted and enlightened.

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.

How much of love lies buried in dusty graves!

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