What nature requires is obtainable, and within easy reach. It is for the superfluous we sweat.

Small sorrows speak great ones are silent.

Life is most delightful on the downward slope.

The most miserable mortals are they that deliver themselves up to their palates, or to their lusts; the pleasure is short, and turns presently nauseous, and the end of it is either shame or repentance.

I am like a book, with pages that have stuck together for want of use: my mind needs unpacking and the truths stored within must be turned over from time to time, to be ready when occasion demands.

The mind does not easily unlearn what it has been long in learning.

I don’t mind citing a bad author if the line is good.