One trembles to think of that mysterious thing in the soul, which seems to acknowledge no human jurisdiction, but in spite of the individual's own innocence self, will still dream horrid dreams, and mutter unmentionable thoughts.

Aid my disillusionment, my friend!

For, as when the red-cheeked, dancing girls, April and May, trip home to the wintry, misanthropic woods; even the barest, ruggedest, most thunder-cloven old oak will at least send forth some few green sprouts, to welcome such glad-hearted visitants . . .

At banquets surfeit not, but fill; partake, and retire; and eat not again till you crave.

Let us only hate hatred; and once give love a play, we will fall in love with a unicorn.

That mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true--not true, or undeveloped.

Personal prudence, even when dictated by quite other than selfish considerations, surely is no special virtue in a military man; while an excessive love of glory, impassioning a less burning impulse, the honest sense of duty, is the first.