How beautiful, how buoyant, and glad is morning!

That which is always within our reach, is always the last thing we take; and the chances are, that what we can do every day, we never do at all.

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

Every other species of talent carries with it its eternity; we enjoy the work of the poet, the painter, the sculptor, only as thousands will do after us; but the actor - his memory is with his generation, and that passes away.

Occupation is one great source of enjoyment. No man, properly occupied, was ever miserable.

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.

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