He has outsoared the shadow of our night; envy and calumny and hate and pain, and that unrest which men miscall delight, can touch him not and torture not again; from the contagion of the world's slow stain, he is secure.

Kings are like stars,-they rise and set, they have The worship of the world, but no repose.

Among true and real friends, all is common; and were ignorance and envy and superstition banished from the world, all mankind would be friend.

It is not a merit to tolerate, but rather a crime to be intolerant.

I love tranquil solitude.

If certain Critics were as clearsighted as they are malignant, how great would be the benefit to be derived from their writings!

Teas, Where small talk dies in agonies.