There is no self-delusion more fatal than that which makes the conscience dreamy with the anodyne of lofty sentiments, while the life is groveling and sensual

What a man pays for bread and butter is worth its market value, and no more. What he pays for love's sake is gold indeed, which has a lure for angels' eyes, and rings well upon God's touchstone.

What a sense of security in an old book which Time has criticized for us!

It is only by instigation of the wrongs of men that what are called the Rights of Man become turbulent and dangerous.

The intellect has only one failing, which, to be sure, is a very considerable one. It has no conscience.

These pearls of thought in Persian gulfs were bred, Each softly lucent as a rounded moon; The diver Omar plucked them from their bed, Fitzgerald strung them on an English thread.

The mind can weave itself warmly in the cocoon of its own thoughts, and dwell a hermit anywhere.