I entrench myself in my books equally against sorrow and the weather.

Those who have lost an infant are never, in a way, without an infant.

Anglers boast of the innocence of their pastime; yet it puts fellow-creatures to the torture. They pique themselves on their meditative faculties; and yet their only excuse is a want of thought.

Whatever evil befalls us, we ought to ask ourselves... how we can turn it into good. So shall we take occasion, from one bitter root, to raise perhaps many flowers.

There is no greater mistake in the world than the looking upon every sort of nonsense as want of sense.

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

Your second-hand bookseller is second to none in the worth of the treasures he dispenses.