How beautiful, how buoyant, and glad is morning!
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.
We are ourselves our happiness.
Anticipation is a bad sleeping draught.
Surprises are like misfortunes or herrings - they rarely come single.
I cannot see why a taste for the country should be held so very indispensable a requisite for excellence; but really people talk of it as if it were a virtue, and as if an opposite opinion was, to say the least of it, very immoral.