A friendship counting nearly forty years is the finest kind of shade-tree I know.

Truth only needs to be for once spoken out; and there's such music in her, such strange rhythm, as makes men's memories her joyous slaves.

New occasions teach new duties.

A great part of human suffering has its root in the nature of man, and not in that of his institutions.

It is only the intellect that can be thoroughly and hideously wicked. It can forget everything in the attainment of its ends. The heart recoils; in its retired some drops of childhood's dew still linger, defying manhood's fiery noon.

Love lives on, and hath a power to bless when they who loved are hidden in the grave.

The foolish and the dead alone never change their opinions.