Admiration bestowed upon any one but ourselves is always tedious.
Good befalls us while we sleep, sometimes.
A flow of words is a sure sign of duplicity.
Our energies are often stimulated by the necessity of supporting a being weaker than ourselves.
Genuine sorrows are very tranquil in appearance in the deep bed they have dug for themselves. But, seeming to slumber, they corrode the soul like that frightful acid which penetrates crystal.
A deist is an atheist with an eye cocked for the off-chance of some advantage.