Man is timid and apologetic; he is no longer upright; he dares not say "I think," "I am," but quotes some saint or sage.

With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall.

There is no den in the wide world to hide a rogue.

Some of the sweetest hours in life, in retrospect will be found to have been spent with books.

Every roof is agreeable to the eye, until it is lifted; then we find tragedy and moaning women, and hard-eyed husbands.

Sickness is poor-spirited, and cannot serve anyone; it must husband its resources to live. But health or fullness answers its own ends, and has to spare, runs over, and inundates the neighborhoods and creeks of other men's necessities.

The youth, intoxicated with his admiration of a hero, fails to see, that it is only a projection of his own soul, which he admires.