This garden has a soul, I know its moods.
Happy opinions are the wine of the heart.
Affection, like melancholy, magnifies trifles; but the magnifying of the one is like looking through a telescope at heavenly objects; that of the other, like enlarging monsters with a microscope.
Did you ever observe that immoderate laughter always ends in a sigh?
I entrench myself in my books equally against sorrow and the weather.
Write me as one who loves his fellow men.