Satire, like conscience, reminds us of what we often wish to forget.

There are some chagrins of the heart which a friend ought to try to console without betraying a knowledge of their existence, as there are physical maladies which a physician ought to seek to heal without letting the sufferer know that he has discovered their extent.

People seem to lose all respect for the past; events succeed each other with such velocity that the most remarkable one of a few years gone by, is no more remembered than if centuries had closed over it.

Conversation is the legs on which thought walks; and writing, the wings by which it flies.

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

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.

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