There is no existence so content as that whose present is engrossed by employment, and whose future is filled by some strong hope, the truth of which is never proved. Toil and illusion are the only secrets to make life tolerable.

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

The truth is, we like to talk over our disasters, because they are ours; and others like to listen, because they are not theirs.

We are rarely wrong when we act from impulse.

I do love violets; they tell the history of woman's love.

We would liken music to Aladdin's lamp — worthless in itself, not so for the spirits which obey its call. We love it for the buried hopes, the garnered memories, the tender feelings, it can summon with a touch.

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.