Childhood has no forebodings; but then, it is soothed by no memories of outlived sorrow.

Souls have complexions too: what will suit one will not suit another

Life is like our game at whist ... I don't enjoy the game much, but I like to play my cards well, and see what will be the end of it.

The perpetual mourner -- the grief that can never be healed -- is innocently enough felt to be wearisome by the rest of the world. And my sense of desolation increases. Each day seems a new beginning -- a new acquaintance with grief.

Don't let us rejoice in punishment, even when the hand of God alone inflicts it. The best of us are but poor wretches, just saved from shipwreck. Can we feel anything but awe and pity when we see a fellow-passenger swallowed by the waves?

When one wanted one's interests looking after whatever the cost, it was not so well for a lawyer to be over honest, else he might not be up to other people's tricks.

... happy husbands and wives can hear each other say the same thing over and over again without being tired.