He thought of the mouldering child, which laid its withered thin arms around his soul, as if it were his own, and to whom Death had given as much as a god gave to Endymion, — sleep, eternal youth, and immortality.

Ah! The seasons of love roll not backward but onward, downward forever.

Repetition is the mother of education.

Sleep, riches, and health, to be truly enjoyed, must be interrupted.

Individuality is to be preserved and respected everywhere, as the root of everything good.

The romance of life begins and ends with two blank pages. Age and extreme old age.

The purer the golden vessel, the more readily is it bent; the higher worth of woman is sooner lost than that of man.