We are not very much to blame for our bad marriages. We live amid hallucinations, and especial trap is laid to trip up our feet with, and all are tripped up first or last. But the mighty mother, who had been so sly with us, as if she felt she owed us some indemnity, insinuates into the Pandora box of marriage some deep and serious benefits, and some great joys.

The affections cannot keep their youth any more than men.

We have more than we use.

We seldom see anybody who is not uneasy or afraid to live.

Music is the poor man's Parnassus.

The man in the street does not know a star in the sky.

How much better when the whole land is a garden, and the people have grown up in the bowers of a paradise.