The number of objects we see from living in a large city amuses the mind like a perpetual raree-show, without supplying it with any ideas.

Tyrants forego all respect for humanity in proportion as they are sunk beneath it. Taught to believe themselves of a different species, they really become so, lose their participation with their kind, and in mimicking the god dwindle into the brute.

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.

Our friends are generally ready to do everything for us, except the very thing we wish them to do.

The temple of fame stands upon the grave: the flame that burns upon its altars is kindled from the ashes of great men.

Literature, like nobility, runs in the blood.

The great requisite for the prosperous management of ordinary business is the want of imagination.