Death stands above me, whispering low I know not what into my ear; Of his strange language all I know Is, there is not a word of fear.

I sometimes think that the most plaintive ditty has brought a fuller joy and of longer duration to its composer that the conquest of Persia to the Macedonian.

Authors are like cattle going to a fair: those of the same field can never move on without butting one another.

Every good writer has much idiom; it is the life and spirit of language.

Merit has rarely risen of itself, but a pebble or a twig is often quite sufficient for it to spring from to the highest ascent. There is usually some baseness before there is any elevation.

Cruelty, if we consider it as a crime, is the greatest of all; if we consider it as a madness, we are equally justifiable in applying to it the readiest and the surest means of oppression.

We are poor, indeed, when we have no half-wishes left us. The heart and the imagination close the shutters the instant they are gone.