Nothing is so atrocious as fancy without taste.

Human life-everybody lives it, but only to a few is it known.

Rash combat oft immortalizes man; if he should fall, he is renowned in song; but after-ages reckon not the ceaseless tears which the forsaken woman sheds. Poets tell us not of the many nights consumed in weeping, or of the dreary days wherein her anguished soul vainly yearns to call her loved one back.

Every reader, if he has a strong mind, reads himself into the book, and amalgamates his thoughts with those of the author.

Voluntary dependence is the wonderful form of existence, and how could that be possible without love?

Take life too seriously, and what is it worth? If the morning wake us to no new joys, if the evening bring us not the hope of new pleasure, is it worthwhile to dress and undress?

The highest cannot be spoken; it can only be acted.