But the whim we have of happiness is somewhat thus. By certain valuations, and averages, of our own striking, we come upon some sort of average terrestrial lot; this we fancy belongs to us by nature, and of indefeasible rights. It is simple payment of our wages, of our deserts; requires neither thanks nor complaint. Foolish soul! What act of legislature was there that thou shouldst be happy? A little while ago thou hadst no right to be at all.

Friendship, in the old heroic sense of that term, no longer exists. It is in reality no longer expected or recognized as a virtue among men.

I call that [Book of Job], apart from all theories about it, one of the grandest things ever written with pen.

Macaulay is well for awhile, but one wouldn't live under Niagara.

The whole past is the procession of the present.

You can make even a parrot into a learned political economist - all he must learn are the two words "supply" and "demand."

If an eloquent speaker speak not the truth, is there a more horrid kind of object in creation?