We are more prone to murmur at the punishment of our faults than to lament them.

Flowers are the bright remembrances of youth; they waft us back, with their bland odorous breath, the joyous hours that only young life knows, ere we have learnt that this fair earth hides graves.

When we bring back with us the objects most dear, and find those we left unchanged, we are tempted to doubt the lapse of time; but one link in the chain of affection broken, and every thing seems altered.

Those can most easily dispense with society who are the most calculated to adorn it; they only are dependent on it who possess no mental resources, for though they bring nothing to the general mart, like beggars, they are too poor to stay at home.

Borrowed thoughts, like borrowed money, only show the poverty of the borrower.

Love and enthusiasm are always ridiculous, when not reciprocated by their objects.

Our weaknesses are the indigenous produce of our characters; but our strength is the forced fruit.