What is companionship where nothing that improves the intellect is communicated, and where the larger heart contracts itself to the model and dimension of the smaller?

Falsehood is for a season.

Moroseness is the evening of turbulence.

The worse of ingratitude lies not in the ossified heart of him who commits it, but we find it in the effect it produces on him against whom it was committed.

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

Little men build up great ones, but the snow colossus soon melts; the good stand under the eye of God, and therefore stand.

There is a desire of property in the sanest and best men, which Nature seems to have implanted as conservative of her works, and which is necessary to encourage and keep alive the arts.