A losing trade, I assure you, sir: literature is a drug.

There's night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon, and stars, brother, all sweet things; there's likewise a wind on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?

I have always been a friend to hero-worship; it is the only rational one, and has always been in use amongst civilized people - the worship of spirits is synonymous with barbarism - it is mere fetish. ... There is something philosophic in the worship of the heroes of the human race.

There is a peculiarity in the countenance, as everybody knows, which, though it cannot be described, is sure to betray the Englishman.

I am invariably of the politics of the people at whose table I sit, or beneath whose roof I sleep.

Next to the love of God, the love of country is the best preventive of crime.

Translation is at best an echo.