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

We talk of the Turks, and abhor the cannibals; but may not some of them, go to heaven, before some of us?

A man can be honest in any sort of skin.

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

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

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

Who in the rainbow can draw the line where the violet tint ends and the orange tint begins? Distinctly we see the difference of the colors, but where exactly does the one first blendingly enter into the other? So with sanity and insanity.