The soil of friendship is worn out with constant use. Habit may still attach us to each other, but we feel ourselves fettered by it. Old friends might be compared to old married people without the tie of children.

We can be said only to fulfil our destiny in the place that gave us birth. I should on this account like well enough to spend the whole of my life in travelling abroad, if I could anywhere borrow another life to spend afterwards at home!

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.

Art must anchor in nature, or it is the sport of every breath of folly.

Perhaps the best cure for the fear of death is to reflect that life has a beginning as well as an end.

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

The love of fame is almost another name for the love of excellence; or it is the ambition to attain the highest excellence, sanctioned by the highest authority, that of time.