Every drop of ink in my pen ran cold.

[The] taste [of the French] is too timid to be true taste--or is but half taste.

The way to ensure summer in England is to have it framed and glazed in a comfortable room.

Two large prominent eyes that rolled about to no purpose (for he was utterly short-sighted) a wide mouth, thick lips and inflated visage, gave him the air of a blind trumpeter. A deep untuneable voice which, instead of modulating, he enforced with unnecsessary pomp, a total neglect of his person, and ignorance of every civil attention, disgusted all who judge by appearance.

Pedants make a great rout about criticism, as if it were a science of great depth, and required much pains and knowledge--criticism however is only the result of good sense, taste and judgment--three qualities that indeed seldom are found together, and extremely seldom in a pedant, which most critics are.

I have known men of valor cowards to their wives.

It was easier to conquer it than to know what to do with it.