Man is a poetical animal, and delights in fiction.

There is something captivating in spirit and intrepidity, to which, we often yield as to a resistless power; nor can he reasonably expect, the confidence of others who too apparently distrusts himself.

We are thankful for good-will rather than for services, for the motive than the quantum of favor received.

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

Genius, like humanity, rusts for want of use.

The more we do, the more we can do.

They are, as it were, train-bearers in the pageant of life, and hold a glass up to humanity, frailer than itself. We see ourselves at second-hand in them: they show us all that we are, all that we wish to be, and all that we dread to be. What brings the resemblance nearer is, that, as they imitate us, we, in our turn, imitate them. There is no class of society whom so many persons regard with affection as actors.