Falsehood is for a season.

We oftener say things because we can say them well, than because they are sound and reasonable.

Hope is the mother of faith.

He who brings ridicule to bear against truth finds in his hand a blade without a hilt. The most sparkling and pointed flame of wit flickers and expires against the incombustible walls of her sanctuary.

The happiest of pillows is not that which love first presses! it is that which death has frowned on and passed over.

The writing of the wise are the only riches our posterity cannot squander.

Wrong is but falsehood put in practice.