Suicide and antipathy to fires in a bedroom seem to be among the national characteristics. Perhaps the same moral cause may originate both.

We are rarely wrong when we act from impulse.

Strange mystery of our nature, that those in whom genius develops itself in imagination, thus taking its most ethereal form, should yet be the most dependent on the opinions of others!

the fact is, that life is too short to be occupied by aught but the present - hope and remembrance are equally a waste of time.

I have no parting sigh to give, so take my parting smile.

How disappointment tracks the steps of hope.

When does the mind put forth its powers? when are the stores of memory unlocked? when does wit 'flash from fluent lips?' -- when but after a good dinner? Who will deny its influence on the affections? Half our friends are born of turbots and truffles.