There is no duty we so much underrate as the duty of being happy. By being happy we sow anonymous benefits upon the world.

A hanging in a good quarrel is an easy death they say, though I could never hear of any that came back to say so.

He who has learned to love an art or science has wisely laid up riches against the day of riches.

It takes hard writing to make easy reading.

There is but one art, to omit.

The very flexibility and ease which make men's friendships so agreeable while they endure, make them the easier to destroy and forget. And a man who has a few friends, or one who has a dozen (if there be any one so wealthy on this earth), cannot forget on how precarious a base his happiness reposes; and how by a stroke or two of fate --a death, a few light words, a piece of stamped paper, a woman's bright eyes --he may be left, in a month, destitute of all.

We are all travelers in the wilderness of this world, and the best we can find in our travels is an honest friend.