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

A tart temper never mellows with age, and a sharp tongue is the only edged tool that grows keener with constant use.

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

He that drinks beer, thinks beer.

The slanders of the pen pierce to the heart; they rankle longest in the noblest spirits; they dwell ever present in the mind and render it morbidly sensitive to the most trifling collision.

History is but a kind of Newgate calendar, a register of the crimes and miseries that man has inflicted on his fellow-man.

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to heal - every other affliction to forget: but this wound we consider it a duty to keep open - this affliction we cherish and brood over in solitude.