The difference between weakness and wickedness is much less than people suppose; and the consequences are nearly always the same.

Sure there's different roads from this to Dungarvan* - some thinks one road pleasanter, and some think another; wouldn't it be mighty foolish to quarrel for this? - and sure isn't it twice worse to thry to interfere with people for choosing the road they like best to heaven?

Imagination, which is the Eldorado of the poet and of the novel-writer, often proves the most pernicious gift to the individuals who compose the talkers instead of the writers in society.

A man should never boast of his courage, nor a woman of her virtue, lest their doing so should be the cause of calling their possession of them into question.

Reason dissipates the illusions of life, but does not console us for their departure.

Praise is the only gift for which people are really grateful.

We have a reading, a talking, and a writing public. When shall we have a thinking?