Night's deepest gloom is but a calm; that soothes the weary mind: The labored days restoring balm; the comfort of mankind.

Colors are the smiles of nature.

Happy opinions are the wine of the heart.

Bread, milk and butter are of venerable antiquity. They taste of the morning of the world.

The perfection of conversational intercourse is when the breeding of high life is animated by the fervor of genius.

A pleasure so exquisite as almost to amount to pain.

The drama is not a mere copy of nature, not a facsimile. It is the free running hand of genius, under the impression of its liveliest wit or most passionate impulses, a thousand times adorning or feeling all as it goes; and you must read it, as the healthy instinct of audiences almost always does, if the critics will let them alone, with a grain of allowance, and a tendency to go away with as much of it for use as is necessary, and the rest for the luxury of laughter, pity, or poetical admiration.