It is easier and handier for men to flatter than to praise.
Joy descends gently upon us like the evening dew, and does not patter down like a hailstorm.
Each departed friend is a magnet that attracts us to the next world.
What makes old age so sad is, not that our joys, but that our hopes then cease.
Art is indeed not the bread but the wine of life.
In science the new is an advance; but in morals, as contradicting our inner ideals and historic idols, it is ever a retrogression.