We call that person who has lost his father, an orphan; and a widower that man who has lost his wife. But that man who has known the immense unhappiness of losing a friend, by what name do we call him? Here every language is silent and holds its peace in impotence.

The city does not take away, neither does the country give, solitude; solitude is within us.

Present unhappiness is selfish; past sorrow is compassionate.

A fine quotation is a diamond in the hand of a man of wit and a pebble in the hand of a fool.

Friendship admits of difference of character, as love does that of sex.

Persons of delicate taste endure stupid criticism better than they do stupid praise.

We are more conscious that a person is in the wrong when the wrong concerns ourselves.