Ah, tell me not that memory sheds gladness o'er the past, what is recalled by faded flowers, save that they did not last?

Perhaps, from an innate desire of justification, sorrow always exaggerates itself. Memory is quite one of Job's friends; and the past is ever ready to throw its added darkness on the present.

Childhood, whose very happiness is love.

there can be neither politically nor morally a good which is not universal ... we cannot reform for a time or for a class, but for all and for the whole, and our very interests will draw us together in one wide bond of sympathy.

Farewell's a bitter word to say.

A preface is a species of literary luxury, where an author, like a lover, is privileged to be egotistical.

Curiosity and courtesy are very often at variance.