The miserable are sacred.

Vice is contagious, and there is no trusting the sound and the sick together.

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

Lightning will wreck its displeasures not only upon pillars, trees, and sheep, but upon altars and temples, and let the sacrilegious go free.

Conversation has a kind of charm about it, an insuating and insidious something that elicits secrets from us just like love or liquor.

Nothing, to my way of thinking, is a better proof of a well-ordered mind than a man's ability to stop just where he is and pass some time in his own company.

If you wish to be loved, love.