Conscience, like a child, is soon lulled to sleep.

anybody's applause is better than nobody's.

What is life? A gulf of troubled waters, where the soul, like a vexed bark, is tossed upon the waves of pain and pleasure by the wavering breath of passions.

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.

It is strange what society will endure from its idols.

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

To this hour, the great science and duty of politics is lowered by the petty leaven of small and personal advantage.