He who, silent, loves to be with us - he who loves us in our silence - has touched one of the keys that ravish hearts.

Habit is altogether too arbitrary a master for me to submit to.

Nothing is so pregnant as cruelty; so multifarious, so rapid, so ever teeming a mother is unknown to the animal kingdom; each of her experiments provokes another and refines upon the last; though always progressive, yet always remote from the end.

Airs of importance are the credentials of impotence.

The proverbial wisdom of the populace in the street, on the roads, and in the markets instructs the ear of him who studies man more fully than a thousand rules ostentatiously displayed.

Borrowed wit is the poorest wit.

All belief that does not make us more happy, more free, more loving, more active, more calm, is, I fear, a mistaken and superstitious belief.