Genius, like humanity, rusts for want of use.
People are not soured by misfortune, but by the reception they meet with in it.
True modesty and true pride are much the same thing: both consist in setting a just value on ourselves - neither more nor less.
The essence of poetry is will and passion.
Envy among other ingredients has a mixture of the love of justice in it. We are more angry at undeserved than at deserved good-fortune.
No man would, I think, exchange his existence with any other man, however fortunate. We had as lief not be, as not be ourselves.