If by the people you understand the multitude, the hoi polloi, 'tis no matter what they think; they are sometimes in the right, sometimes in the wrong; their judgment is a mere lottery.

A happy genius is the gift of nature.

All heiresses are beautiful.

Fattened in vice, so callous and so gross, he sins and sees not, senseless of his loss.

Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.

Whistling to keep myself from being afraid.

Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.