beauty is like piety--you cannot run and read it; tranquility and constancy, with, now-a-days, an easy chair, are needed.

In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary?

Thus it often is, that the constant friction of illiberal minds wears out at last the best resolves of the more generous.

For whatever is truly wondrous and fearful in man, never yet was put into words or books.

It is often to be observed, that as in digging for precious metals in the mines, much earthly rubbish has first to be troublesomely handled and thrown out ; so, in digging in one s soul for the fine gold of genius, much dulness and common-place is first brought to light. Happy would it be, if the man possessed in himself some receptacle for his own rubbish of this sort: but he is like the occupant of a dwelling, whose refuse cannot be clapped into his own cellar, but must be deposited in the street before his own door, for the public functionaries to take care of.

It is the easiest thing in the world for a man to look as if he had a great secret in him.

Out of the trunk, the branches grow; out of them, the twigs. So, in productive subjects, grow the chapters.