The reason why the world lacks unity, and lies broken and in heaps, is, because man is disunited with himself.

You think me the child of circumstance; I make my circumstance.

The cold, inconsiderate of persons, tingles your blood, benumbs your feet, freezes a man like an apple.

Wit makes its own welcome, and levels all distinction. No dignity, no learning, no force of character, can make any stand against good wit. It is like ice, on which no beauty of form, no majesty of carriage, can plead any immunity; they must walk gingerly, according to the laws of ice, or down they must go, dignity and all.

Now every one must do after his kind, be he asp or angel, and these must.

We seek our friend not sacredly, but with an adulterate passion which would appropriate him to ourselves.

People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character.