The only sensible ends of literature are, first, the pleasurable toil of writing; second, the gratification of one's family and friends; and lastly, the solid cash.

Nobody will use other people's experience, nor have any of his own till it is too late to use it.

Come, therefore, and let us fling mud at them!

My fortune somewhat resembled that of a person who should entertain an idea of committing suicide, and, altogether beyond his hopes, meet with the good hap to be murdered.

I heard a neigh. Oh, such a brisk and melodious neigh it was. My very heart leapt with the sound.

Strength is incomprehensible by weakness, and, therefore, the more terrible.

Man is a wretch without woman; but woman is a monster-and thank Heaven, an almost impossible and hitherto imaginary monster--without man, as her acknowledged principal!