The only happiness a brave person ever troubles themselves in asking about, is happiness enough to get their work done.

Little other than a red tape Talking-machine, and unhappy Bag of Parliamentary Eloquence.

A star is beautiful; it affords pleasure, not from what it is to do, or to give, but simply by being what it is. It befits the heavens; it has congruity with the mighty space in which it dwells. It has repose; no force disturbs its eternal peace. It has freedom; no obstruction lies between it and infinity.

When Pococke inquired of Grotius, where the proof was of that story of the pigeon, trained to pick peas from Mahomet's (Muhammad's) ear, and pass for an angel dictating to him? Grotius answered that there was no proof!

Burke said there were Three Estates in Parliament; but, in the Reporter's gallery yonder, there sat a fourth estate more important far than they all.

Skepticism . . . is not intellectual only it is moral also, a chronic atrophy and disease of the whole soul.

Silence is as deep as eternity, speech a shallow as time.