Within my heart is lurking suspicion, and base fear, and shame and hate; but above all, tyrannous love sits throned, crowned with her graces, silent and in tears.

The pleasure of hating, like a poisonous mineral, eats into the heart of religion, and turns it to ranking spleen and bigotry; it makes patriotism an excuse for carrying fire, pestilence, and famine into other lands: it leaves to virtue nothing but the spirit of censoriousness.

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.

The mind of man is like a clock that is always running down, and requires to be constantly wound up.

Those who make their dress a principal part of themselves, will, in general, become of no more value than their dress.

The love of liberty is the love of others; the love of power is the love of ourselves.

When you find out a man's ruling passion, beware of crossing him in it.