Pride is a fault that great men blush not to own: it is the ennobled offspring of self-love; though, it must be confessed, grave and pompous vanity, Iike a fat plebeian in a rove of office, does very often assume its name.

It ever is the marked propensity of restless and aspiring minds to look into the stretch of dark futurity.

He that will not give some portion of his ease, his blood, his wealth, for other's good, is a poor, frozen churl.

I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!

Pampered vanity is a better thing perhaps than starved pride.

It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man. . .

Still on it creeps, Each little moment at another's heels, Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up Of such small parts as these, and men look back Worn and bewilder'd, wondering how it is.