We may be willing to tell a story twice, never to hear it more than once.

The difference between the vanity of a Frenchman and an Englishman seems to be this: the one thinks everything right that is French, the other thinks everything wrong that is not English.

Well I've had a happy life.

The love of letters is the forlorn hope of the man of letters. His ruling passion is the love of fame.

Diffidence and awkwardness are antidotes to love.

Anyone who has passed though the regular gradations of a classical education, and is not made a fool by it, may consider himself as having had a very narrow escape.

Pure good soon grows insipid, wants variety and spirit. Pain is a bittersweet, which never surfeits. Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust. Hatred alone is immortal.