the days, and the months, and the years, pass so swiftly, that I can no longer retain them. Time, in its flight, hurries me away, in spite of myself; in vain I endeavor to stop him, he drags me along: the thought of this alarms me.

... Providence conducts us with so much kindness through the different periods of our life, that we scarcely feel the change; our days glide gently and imperceptibly along, like the motion of the hour-hand, which we cannot discover. ... we advance gradually; we are the same to-day as yesterday, and to-morrow as to-day: thus we go on, without perceiving it, which is a miracle of the Providence I adore.

... we ought to be astonished at nothing; for what do we not meet with in our journey through life?

winter is past, and we have a prospect of spring that is superior to spring itself.

I do not like to employ secretaries that have more wit than myself. I am afraid to make them write all my nonsense.

There is no real evil in life, except great pain; all the rest is imaginary, and depends on the light in which we view things

It is the fine rain that soaks us through.