Cunning is the art of concealing our own defects, and discovering other people's weaknesses.

Almost every sect of Christianity is a perversion of its essence, to accommodate it to the prejudices of the world.

No man would, I think, exchange his existence with any other man, however fortunate. We had as lief not be, as not be ourselves.

The objects that we have known in better days are the main props that sustain the weight of our affections, and give us strength to await our future lot.

Like a rustic at a fair, we are full of amazement and rapture, and have no thought of going home, or that it will soon be night.

To expect an author to talk as he writes is ridiculous; or even if he did you would find fault with him as a pedant.

We do not see nature with our eyes, but with our understandings and our hearts.