The mind of man is like a clock that is always running down, and requires to be constantly wound up.
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.
We are all of us, more or less, the slaves of opinion.
Those who are at war with others are not at peace with themselves.
By despising all that has preceded us, we teach others to despise ourselves.
If I have not read a book before, it is, for all intents and purposes, new to me whether it was printed yesterday or three hundred years ago.