Anticipation is a bad sleeping draught.

Politeness, however, acts the lady's maid to our thoughts; and they are washed, dressed, curled, rouged, and perfumed, before they are presented to the public.

Toil is the portion of day, as sleep is that of night; but if there be one hour of the twenty-four which has the life of day without its labor, and the rest of night without its slumber, it is the lovely and languid hour of twilight.

Repentance is a one-faced Janus, ever looking to the past.

An apt quotation is like a lamp which flings its light over the whole sentence.

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

Sneering springs out of the wish to deny; and wretched must that state of mind be that wishes to take refuge in doubt.