Poverty may be the mother of crime, but lack of good sense is the father.

Days, months, years fly away, and irrecoverably sink in the abyss of time.

There are but three events which concern man: birth, life and death. They are unconscious of their birth, they suffer when they die, and they neglect to live.

A heap of epithets is poor praise: the praise lies in the facts, and in the way of telling them.

Friendship * * * is a long time in forming, it is of slow growth, through many trials and months of familiarity.

It seems to me that the spirit of politeness is a certain attention in causing that, by our words and by our manners, others may be content with us and with themselves.

If you suppress the exorbitant love of pleasure and money, idle curiosity, iniquitous pursuits and wanton mirth, what a stillness would there be in the greatest cities.