There is a remembrance of the dead to which we turn even from the charms of the living.

The tongue is the only instrument that gets sharper with use.

The scholar only knows how dear these silent, yet eloquent, companions of pure thoughts and innocent hours become in the season of adversity. When all that is worldly turns to dross around us, these only retain their steady value.

The Englishman is too apt to neglect the present good in preparing against the possible evil.

Those men are most apt to be obsequious and conciliating abroad, who are under the discipline of shrews at home.

There rise authors now and then, who seem proof against the mutability of language, because they have rooted themselves in the unchanging principles of human nature.

A mother is the truest friend we have.