A singular fact, that, when man is a brute, he is the most sensual and loathsome of all brutes.

There is something more awful in happiness than in sorrow--the latter being earthly and finite, the former composed of the substance and texture of eternity, so that spirits still embodied may well tremble at it.

We sometimes congratulate ourselves at the moment of waking from a troubled dream; it may be so the moment after death.

The fiend in his own shape is less hideous than when he rages in the breast of men.

Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind.

The divine chemistry works in the subsoil.

A long time ago, in a town with which I used to be familiarly acquainted, there dwelt an elderly person of grim aspect, known by the name and title of Doctor Grimshawe, whose household consisted of a remarkably pretty and vivacious boy, and a perfect rosebud of a girl, two or three years younger than he, and an old maid of all work, of strangely mixed breed, crusty in temper and wonderfully sluttish in attire.