The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails whereon my soul is grooved to run

There is nothing so slipperily alluring as sadness; we become sad in the first place by having nothing stirring to do; we continue in it, because we have found a snug sofa at last.

It is not the purpose of literature to purvey news. For news consult the Almanac de Gotha.

Evil is the chronic malady of the universe, and checked in one place, breaks forth in another.

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

He says NO! In thunder; but the Devil himself cannot make him say yes.

Lo! ye believers in gods all goodness, and in man all ill, lo you! see the omniscient gods oblivious of suffering man; and man, though idiotic, and knowing not what he does, yet full of the sweet things of love and gratitude.