Who's not sat tense before his own heart's curtain.

Truth always has a bewitching savor of newness in it, and novelty at the first taste recalls that original sweetness to the tongue; but alas for him who would make the one a substitute for the other.

Better one bite at forty, of truths bitter rind, than the hot wine that gushed from the vintage of twenty.

Attention is the stuff that memory is made of, and memory is accumulated genius.

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

Metaphor is no argument, though it be sometimes the gunpowder to drive one home, and imbed it in the memory.

Moral supremacy is the only one that leaves monuments, and not ruins, behind it.