We consider ourselves as defective in memory, either because we remember less than we desire, or less than we suppose others to remember.

There seems to be a strange affectation in authors of appearing to have done everything by chance.

The essence of poetry is invention; such invention as, by producing something unexpected, surprises and delights.

We have always pretensions to fame which, in our own hearts, we know to be disputable.

Such is the uncertainty of human affairs, that security and despair are equal follies; and as it is presumption and arrogance to anticipate triumphs, it is weakness and cowardice to prog-nosticate miscarriages.

Whoever thinks of going to bed before twelve o'clock is a scoundrel.

Languages are the pedigree of nations.