A critic is never too severe when he only detects the faults of an author. But he is worse than too severe when, in consequence of this detection, be presumes to place himself on a level with genius.

The habit of pleasing by flattery makes a language soft; the fear of offending by truth makes it circuitous and conventional.

When the mind loses its feeling for elegance, it grows corrupt and groveling, and seeks in the crowd what ought to be found at home.

Great men too often have greater faults than little men can find room for.

Principles do not mainly influence even the principled; we talk on principle, but we act on interest.

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.

Great men lose somewhat of their greatness by being near us; ordinary men gain much.