One of the pleasures of reading old letters is the knowledge that they need no answer.

[Armenian] is a rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of learning it.

I hate all pain, Given or received; we have enough within us The meanest vassal as the loftiest monarch, Not to add to each other's natural burden Of mortal misery.

Kill a man's family, and he may brook it, But keep your hands out of his breeches' pocket.

The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,-too many, yet how few!

I am always most religious upon a sunshiny day.

Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, and broke the die.