Poetry is all that is worth remembering in life.

Many a man would have turned rogue if he knew how.

The soul of a journey is liberty, perfect liberty, to think, feel, do just as one pleases.

The last pleasure in life is the sense of discharging our duty.

If our hours were all serene, we might probably take almost as little note of them as the dial does of those that are clouded.

We uniformly applaud what is right and condemn what is wrong, when it costs us nothing but the sentiment.

We often forget our dreams so speedily: if we cannot catch them as they are passing out at the door, we never set eyes on them again.