Real pain can alone cure us of imaginary ills. We feel a thousand miseries till we are lucky enough to feel misery.

I feel as if God had, by giving the Sabbath, given fifty-two springs in every year.

About, about, in reel and rout the death fires danced at night.

Language is the armory of the human mind, and at once contains the trophies of its past and the weapons of its future conquests.

All sympathy not consistent with acknowledged virtue is but disguised selfishness.

The rules of prudence, like the laws of the stone tables, are for the most part prohibitive. "Thou shalt not" is their characteristic formula.

Wherever you find a sentence musically worded, of true rhythm and melody in the words, there is something deep and good in the meaning too.