Age, like woman, requires fit surroundings.

I like my boy with his endless sweet soliloquies and iterations and his utter inability to conceive why I should not leave all my nonsense, business, and writing and come to tie up his toy horse, as if there was or could be any end to nature beyond his horse. And he is wiser than we when [he] threatens his whole threat "I will not love you."

We fancy men are individuals; so are pumpkins; but every pumpkin in the field goes through every point of pumpkin history.

Come out of the azure. Love the day. Do not leave the sky out of your landscape.

What would be the use of immortality to a person who cannot use well a half an hour?

Why has my motley diary no jokes? Because it is a soliloquy and every man is grave alone.

He who is in love is wise and is becoming wiser, sees newly every time he looks at the object beloved, drawing from it with his eyes and his mind those virtues which it possesses.