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

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.

There is no magician like love.

We never respect those who amuse us, however we may smile at their comic powers

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

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.

Tears may be dried up, but the heart - never.