Childhood, whose very happiness is love.

A sealed book, at whose contents we tremble.

Alas! we give our own coloring to the actions of others.

It is amazing how much a thought expands and refines by being put into speech: I should think it could hardly know itself.

who has not experienced, at some time or other, that words had all the relief of tears?

One would think that an unsuccessful volume was like a degree in the school of reviewing. One unread work makes the judge bitter enough; but a second failure, and he is quite desperate in his damnation. I do believe one half of the injustice - the severity of 'the ungentle craft' originates in its own want of success: they cannot forgive the popularity which has passed them over.

The old proverb, applied to fire and water, may with equal truth be applied to the imagination - it is a good servant, but a bad master.