All sweeping assertions are erroneous.

The lover and the physician are each popular from the same cause - we talk to them of nothing but ourselves.

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

There is a large stock on hand; but somehow or other, nobody's experience ever suits us but our own.

There is no existence so content as that whose present is engrossed by employment, and whose future is filled by some strong hope, the truth of which is never proved. Toil and illusion are the only secrets to make life tolerable.

It is said that ridicule is the test of truth: it is never applied, but when we wish to deceive ourselves.

The stars are so far, far away!