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

Some thoughts always find us young, and keep us so. Such a thought is the love of the universal and eternal beauty.

For what are they all in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet?

Nature turns all malfaisance to good.

One more fagot of these adamantine bandages is the new science of Statistics.

I can reason down or deny everything, except this perpetual Belly: feed he must and will, and I cannot make him respectable.

Heaven often protects valuable souls charged with great secrets, great ideas, by long shutting them up with their own thoughts.