Charity, like poetry, should be cultivated, if only for its being graceful.

Praise when merited is not a boon: yet to a generous nature, is it pleasant to utter it.

Thinking is, or ought to be, a coolness and a calmness; and our poor hearts throb, and our poor brains beat too much for that.

The only ugliness is that of the heart, seen through the face. And though beauty be obvious, the only loveliness is invisible.

Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I'd strike the sun if it insulted me.

Wag the world how it will, Leaves must be green in Spring.

He knows himself, and all that's in him, who knows adversity.