Plutarch says very finely that a man should not allow himself to hate even his enemies.

The time never lies heavy upon him; it is impossible for him to be alone.

There is nothing that more betrays a base ungenerous spirit than the giving of secret stabs to a man's reputation. Lampoons and satires that are written with wit and spirit are like poisoned darts, which not only inflict a wound, but make it incurable.

Wit is the fetching of congruity out of incongruity.

It has been said in praise of some men, that they could take whole hours together upon anything; but it must be owned to the honor of the other sex that there are many among them who can talk whole hours together upon nothing. I have known a woman branch out into a long extempore dissertation on the edging of a petticoat, and chide her servant for breaking a china cup, in all the figures of rhetoric.

They were a people so primitive they did not know how to get money, except by working for it.

Nothing that isn't a real crime makes a man appear so contemptible and little in the eyes of the world as inconsistency.