When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.

We can never judge a soul above the high water mark of our own.

Is not every action of Hamlet induced by a fanatical impulse, which tells him that duty consists in revenge alone? And dose it need superhuman efforts to recognize that revenge never can be duty? I say again that Hamlet thinks much, but that he is by no means wise.

How strangely do we diminish a thing as soon as we try to express it in words.

To disdain today is to prove that yesterday has been misunderstood.

It is the evil that lies in ourselves that is ever least tolerant of the evil that dwells within others.

Our reason may prove what it will: our reason is only a feeble ray that has issued from Nature.