My heart is its own grave!

We need to suffer, that we may learn to pity.

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

Memory has many conveniences, and, among others, that of foreseeing things as they have afterwards happened.

Are we not like the actor of old times, who wore his mask so long his face took its likeness?

Hope is love's happiness, but not its life.

Praise is sometimes a good thing for the diffident and the despondent. It teaches them properly to rely on the kindness of others.