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.
... true love is like religion, it hath its silence and its sanctity.
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.
We need to suffer, that we may learn to pity.
The lover and the physician are each popular from the same cause - we talk to them of nothing but ourselves.
The dream on the pillow, That flits with the day, The leaf of the willow A breath wears away; The dust on the blossom, The spray on the sea; Ay,--ask thine own bosom-- Are emblems of thee.
Nothing more strongly marks the insufficiency of luxuries than the ease with which people grow accustomed to them; they are rather known by their want than by their presence. The word 'blasé' has been coined expressly for the use of the upper classes.
How disappointment tracks the steps of hope.
in came ... a baby, eloquent as infancy usually is, and like most youthful orators, more easily heard than understood.
English people ... never speak, excepting in cases of fire or murder, unless they are introduced.
There is no denying that there are 'royal roads' through existence for the upper classes; for them, at least, the highways are macadamized, swept, and watered.
Ignorance, far more than idleness, is the mother of all the vices; and how recent has been the admission, that knowledge should be the portion of all? The destinies of the future lie in judicious education; an education that must be universal, to be beneficial.
I can pass days Stretch'd in the shade of those old cedar trees, Watching the sunshine like a blessing fall,-- The breeze like music wandering o'er the boughs, Each tree a natural harp,--each different leaf A different note, blent in one vast thanksgiving.
I hate the word 'ought' - it always implies something dull, cold, and commonplace. The 'ought nots' of life are its pleasantest things.
doubts, like facts, are stubborn things.
How often, in this cold and bitter world, is the warm heart thrown back upon itself! Cold, careless, are we of another's grief; we wrap ourselves in sullen selfishness.
marriage is like money - seem to want it, and you never get it.
The stars are so far, far away!
Curiosity and courtesy are very often at variance.
I never cast a flower away, A gift of one who car'd for me; A flower--a faded flower, But it was done reluctantly.
I would give worlds, could I believe One-half that is profess'd me; Affection! could I think it Thee, When Flattery has caress'd me.
Memory has many conveniences, and, among others, that of foreseeing things as they have afterwards happened.
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