After thirty, a man wakes up sad every morning, excepting perhaps five or six, until the day of his death.

The wise through excess of wisdom is made a fool.

To fill the hour; that is happiness to fill the hour, and leave no crevice for a repentance or an approval.

The Indian who was laid under a curse, that the wind should not blow on him, nor water flow to him, nor fire burn him, is a type of us all. The dearest events are summer-rain, and we the Para coats that shed every drop. Nothing is left us now but death. We look to that with a grim satisfaction, saying, there at least is reality that will not dodge us.

I wish the days to be as centuries, loaded, fragrant. Now we reckon them as bank-days, by some debt which is to be paid us, or which we are to pay, or some pleasure we are to taste.

Almost all people descend to meet. All association must be a compromise, and, what is worst, the very flower and aroma of the flower of each of the beautiful natures disappears as they approach each other.

The best lightning rod for your protection is your own spine.