Who naught suspects is easily deceived.

In my younger days I struggled constantly with an overwhelming but pure love affair - my only one, and I would have struggled with it longer had not premature death, bitter but salutary for me, extinguished the cooling flames. I certainly wish I could say that I have always been entirely free from desires of the flesh, but I would be lying if I did.

Mere elegance of language can produce at best but an empty renown.

When the poet died his cat was put to death and mummified.

Often have I wondered with much curiosity as to our coming into this world and what will follow our departure.

Who over-refines his argument brings himself to grief

Books never pall on me. They discourse with us, they take counsel with us, and are united to us by a certain living chatty familiarity. And not only does each book inspire the sense that it belongs to its readers, but it also suggests the name of others, and one begets the desire of the other.