The poor man wants many things; the covetous man, all.

I feel that the Godhead is broken up like the bread at the Supper, and that we are the pieces. Hence this infinite fraternity of feeling.

There is a woe that is wisdom, a woe that is madness.

You must have plenty of sea-room to tell the truth in.

But the past is passed; why moralize upon it? Forget it. See, yon bright son has forgotten it all, and the blue sea, and the blue sky; these have turned over new leaves. Because they have no memory . . . because they are not human.

We should, if possible, prove a teacher to posterity, instead of being the pupil of by-gone generations. More shall come after us than have gone before; the world is not yet middle-aged.

The dinner-hour is the summer of the day: full of sunshine, I grant; but not like the mellow autumn of supper.