Grief is a species of idleness.

Once a coxcomb, always a coxcomb.

Hope is itself a species of happiness.

Gaiety is to good-humor as animal perfumes to vegetable fragrance. The one overpowers weak spirits, the other recreates and revives them. Gaiety seldom fails to give some pain; good-humor boasts no faculties which every one does not believe in his own power, and pleases principally by not offending.

It is as bad as bad can be: it is ill-fed, ill-killed, ill-kept, and ill-drest.

Advice, as it always gives a temporary appearance of superiority, can never be very grateful, even when it is most necessary or most judicious; but, for the same reason, every one is eager to instruct his neighbors.

Those who attempt nothing themselves think every thing easily performed, and consider the unsuccessful always as criminal.