Even imperfection itself may have its ideal or perfect state.

Often one's dear friend talks something which one scruples to call rigmarole.

Enough if every age produce two or three critics of this esoteric class, with here and there a reader to understand them.

Kings should disdain to die, and only disappear.

Rightly it is said of utter, utter misery, that it 'cannot be remembered'; itself, being a rememberable thing, is swallowed up in its own chaos.

For tea, though ridiculed by those who are naturally coarse in their nervous sensibilities, or are become so from wine-drinking, and are not susceptible of influence from so refined a stimulant, will always be the favourite beverage of the intellectual.

A promise is binding in the inverse ratio of the numbers to whom it is made.