Alas! we makeA ladder of our thoughts, where angels step,But sleep ourselves at the foot: our high resolvesLook down upon our slumbering acts.
Hard are life's early steps; and but that youth is buoyant, confident, and strong in hope, men would behold its threshold, and despair.
There is no wretchedness like self-reproach.
There is a large stock on hand; but somehow or other, nobody's experience ever suits us but our own.
Few save the poor feel for the poor.
Shopping, true feminine felicity!
I have a respect for family pride. If it be a prejudice, it is a prejudice in its most picturesque shape. But I hold it is connected with some of the noblest feelings in our nature.
Enthusiasm is the divine particle in our composition: with it we are great, generous, and true; without it, we are little, false, and mean.
Good taste is his religion, his morality, his standard, and his test.
It is said that ridicule is the test of truth: it is never applied, but when we wish to deceive ourselves.
We need to suffer, that we may learn to pity.
I have no parting sigh to give, so take my parting smile.
A friend is never alarmed for us in the right place.
Delicious tears! The heart's own dew.
I do love violets; they tell the history of woman's love.
... true love is like religion, it hath its silence and its sanctity.
If there be any one habit which more than another is the dry rot of all that is high and generous in youth, it is the habit of ridicule.
It is said that ridicule is the test of truth; but it is never applied except when we wish to deceive ourselves - when if we cannot exclude the light, we would fain draw the curtain before it. The sneer springs out of the wish to deny; and wretched must that state of mind be, that wishes to take refuge in doubt.
When does the mind put forth its powers? when are the stores of memory unlocked? when does wit 'flash from fluent lips?' -- when but after a good dinner? Who will deny its influence on the affections? Half our friends are born of turbots and truffles.
All sweeping assertions are erroneous.
youth, balancing itself upon hope, is forever in extremes: its expectations are continually aroused only to be baffled, and disappointment, like a summer shower, is violent in proportion to its brevity.
Youth is a season that has no repose.
Society is like a large piece of frozen water; and skating well is the great art of social life.
Ah, tell me not that memory sheds gladness o'er the past, what is recalled by faded flowers, save that they did not last?
To this hour, the great science and duty of politics is lowered by the petty leaven of small and personal advantage.
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