Like the measles, love is most dangerous when it comes late in life.

I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.

Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.

I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but as you will see, not infested with the mania.

Of religion I know nothing -- at least, in its favor.

He who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.