The law is the witness and external deposit of our moral life. Its history is the history of the moral development of the race.

War? War is an organized bore.

Life is a fatal complaint, and an eminently contagious one.

We are all sentenced to capital punishment for the crime of living, and though the condemned cell of our earthly existence is but a narrow and bare dwelling-place, we have adjusted ourselves to it, and made it tolerably comfortable for the little while we are to be confined in it.

Men, like peaches and pears, grow sweet a little while before they begin to decay.

Our test of truth is a reference to either a present or imagined future majority in favour of our view.

Nothing can be so perfect while we possess it as it will seem when remembered.