Wit is the lightning of the mind, reason the sunshine, and reflection the moonlight.

Happiness is a rare plant that seldom takes root on earth-few ever enjoyed it, except for a brief period; the search after it is rarely rewarded by the discovery, but there is an admirable substitute for it... a contented spirit.

Tears fell from my eyes - yes, weak and foolish as it now appears to me, I wept for my departed youth; and for that beauty of which the faithful mirror too plainly assured me, no remnant existed.

Love matches are made by people who are content, for a month of honey, to condemn themselves to a life of vinegar.

He who fears not, is to be feared.

Wit lives in the present, but genius survives the future.

Flattery, if judiciously administered, is always acceptable.