I'll try a pagan friend, thought I, since Christian kindness has proved but hollow courtesy.

The starred and stately nights seemed haughty dames in jewelled velvets, nursing at home in lonely pride, the memory of their absent conquering Earls, the golden helmeted suns!

Poor fish of Rodondo! in your victimized confidence, you are of the number of those who inconsiderately trust, while they do not understand, human nature.

The only true infidelity is for a live man to vote himself dead.

War being the greatest of evils, all its accessories necessarily partake of the same character.

There is a savor of life and immortality in substantial fare. Like balloons, we are nothing till filled.

Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is an errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, and not I.