Those who cannot tell what they desire or expect, still sigh and struggle with indefinite thoughts and vast wishes.

Fear, when your friends say to you what you have done well, and say it through; but when they stand with uncertain timid looks of respect and half-dislike, and must suspend their judgement for years to come, you may begin to hope.

There is hope in extravagance, there is none in routine.

We surround ourselves with the true image of ourselves.

It has come to be practically a sort of rule in literature that a man, having once shown himself capable of original writing, is entitled thenceforth to steal from the writings of others at discretion.

Knowledge, Virtue, Power are the victories of man over his necessities, his march to the dominion of the world.

Although knaves win in every political struggle, although society seems to be delivered over from the hands of one set of criminals into the hands of another set of criminals, as fast as the government is changed, and the march of civilization is a train of felonies, yet, general ends are somehow answered.