Shall we never never get rid of this Past? ... It lies upon the Present like a giant's dead body.

I have come to see the nonsense of attempting to describe fine scenery. There is no such possibility. If scenery could be adequately reproduced in words, there would have been no need of God's making it in reality.

Many writers lay very great stress upon some definite moral purpose, at which they profess to aim their works.

The moment when a man's head drops off is seldom or never, I am inclined to think, precisely the most agreeable of his life.

It is my opinion that a man's soul may be buried and perish under a dung-heap, or in a furrow field, just as well as under a pile of money.

Life, within doors, has few pleasanter prospects than a neatly-arranged and well-provisioned breakfast-table.

Truth often finds its way to the mind close muffled in robes of sleep, and then speaks with uncompromising directness of matters in regard to which we practise an unconscious self-deception during our waking moments.