How often, in this cold and bitter world, is the warm heart thrown back upon itself! Cold, careless, are we of another's grief; we wrap ourselves in sullen selfishness.

The heart's hushed secret in the soft dark eye.

habit is our idea of eternity.

One would think that an unsuccessful volume was like a degree in the school of reviewing. One unread work makes the judge bitter enough; but a second failure, and he is quite desperate in his damnation. I do believe one half of the injustice - the severity of 'the ungentle craft' originates in its own want of success: they cannot forgive the popularity which has passed them over.

though fortune's wheel is generally on the turn, sometimes when it gets into the mud, it sticks there.

If there be any one habit which more than another is the dry rot of all that is high and generous in youth, it is the habit of ridicule.

Travel is as much a passion as ambition or love.