An old friend never can be found, and nature has provided that he cannot easily be lost.

The great end of prudence is to give cheerfulness to those hours which splendor cannot gild, and acclamation cannot exhilarate.

Nothing is more idle than to inquire after happiness, which nature has kindly placed within our reach.

Friendship, like love, is destroyed by long absence, though it may be increased by short intermissions.

Every other enjoyment malice may destroy; every other panegyric envy may withhold; but no human power can deprive the boaster of his own encomiums.

In Shakespeare's plays, the mourner hastening to bury his friend is all the time colliding with the reveller hastening to his wine.

This is my history; like all other histories, a narrative of misery.