Those who love are but one step from heaven.

Not failure, but low aim, is crime.

Nature, they say, doth dote, And cannot make a man Save on some worn-out plan, Repeating us by rote.

And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that darkness and that light.

Men have their intellectual ancestry, and the likeness of some one of them is forever unexpectedly flashing out in the features of a descendant, it may be after a gap of several centuries. In the parliament of the present every man represents a constituency of the past.

Truth, after all, wears a different face to everybody, and it would be too tedious to wait till all were agreed.

Reputation is only a candle, of wavering and uncertain flame, and easily blown out, but it is the light by which the world looks for and finds merit.