For this is the most civil sort of lie That can be given to a man's face. I now Say what I think.

I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity.

Is it not odd that the only generous person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should be a stockbroker.

When you can discover where the fresh colors of the faded flower abide, or the music of the broken lyre, seek life among the dead. Such are the anxious and fearful contemplations of the common observer, though the popular religion often prevents him from confessing them even to himself.

Constancy has nothing virtuous in itself, independently of the pleasure it confers, and partakes of the temporizing spirit of vice in proportion as it endures tamely moral defects of magnitude in the object of its indiscreet choice.

Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow claspest the limits of mortality.

Peace is in the grave.