The love of posterity is the consequence of the necessity of death. If a man were sure of living forever here, he would not care about his offspring.

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 will startle you to see what slaves we are to by-gone times-to Death, if we give the matter the right word! ... We read in Dead Men's books! We laugh at Dead Men's jokes, and cry at Dead Men's pathos! . . . Whatever we seek to do, of our own free motion, a Dead Man's icy hand obstructs us!

Articulate words are a harsh clamor and dissonance. When man arrives at his highest perfection, he will again be dumb.

What a happy and holy fashion it is that those who love one another should rest on the same pillow.

Those with whom we can apparently become well acquainted in a few moments are generally the most difficult to rightly know and to understand.

She wanted—what some people want throughout life—a grief that should deeply touch her, and thus humanize and make her capable of sympathy.