"Love is not altogether a Delirium," says he elsewhere; "yet has it many points in common therewith."

Man's unhappiness, as I construe, comes of his greatness; it is because there is an Infinite in him, which with all his cunning he cannot quite bury under the Finite.

Writing is a dreadful labor, yet not so dreadful as Idleness.

Habit and imitation--there is nothing more perennial in us than these two. They are the source of all working, and all apprenticeship, of all practice, and all learning, in this world.

It is a fact which escapes no one, that, generally speaking, whoso is acquainted with his worth has but a little stock to cultivate acquaintance with.

Sarcasm I now see to be, in general, the language of the devil; for which reason I have long since as good as renounced it.

The past is all holy to us; the dead are all holy; even they that were wicked when alive.