habit is our idea of eternity.
It merely shews, after all, that affection is a habit.
Praise is sometimes a good thing for the diffident and the despondent. It teaches them properly to rely on the kindness of others.
Perhaps, from an innate desire of justification, sorrow always exaggerates itself. Memory is quite one of Job's friends; and the past is ever ready to throw its added darkness on the present.
That which is always within our reach, is always the last thing we take; and the chances are, that what we can do every day, we never do at all.
We would liken music to Aladdin's lamp — worthless in itself, not so for the spirits which obey its call. We love it for the buried hopes, the garnered memories, the tender feelings, it can summon with a touch.
One would think that an unsuccessful volume was like a degree in the school of reviewing. One unread work makes the judge bitter enough; but a second failure, and he is quite desperate in his damnation. I do believe one half of the injustice - the severity of 'the ungentle craft' originates in its own want of success: they cannot forgive the popularity which has passed them over.
Do anything but love; or if thou lovest and art a woman, hide thy love from him whom thou dost worship; never let him know how dear he is; flit like a bird before him; lead him from tree to tree, from flower to flower; but be not won, or thou wilt, like that bird, when caught and caged, be left to pine neglected and perish in forgetfulness.
Social life is filled with doubts and vain aspirings; solitude, when the imagination is dethroned, is turned to weariness and ennui.
Surprises are like misfortunes or herrings - they rarely come single.
My tears are buried in my heart, like cave-locked fountains sleeping.
I cannot love evergreens - they are the misanthropes of nature. To them the spring brings no promise, the autumn no decline; they are cut off from the sweetest of all ties with their kind - sympathy. ... I will have no evergreens in my garden; when the inevitable winter comes, every beloved plant and favorite tree shall drop together - no solitary fir left to triumph over the companionship of decay.
who has not experienced, at some time or other, that words had all the relief of tears?
There are words to paint the misery of love, but none to paint its happiness.
he who seeks pleasure with reference to himself, not others, will ever find that pleasure is only another name for discontent.
... many a heart is caught in the rebound ... Pride may be soothed by the ready devotion of another; vanity may be excited the more keenly by recent mortification.
sight-seeing gratifies us in different ways. First, there is the pleasure of novelty; secondly, either that of admiration or fault-finding - the latter a very animated enjoyment.
A sealed book, at whose contents we tremble.
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.
of all the follies that we can commit, the greatest is to hesitate.
Alas! we give our own coloring to the actions of others.
Repentance is a one-faced Janus, ever looking to the past.
From religion ... they will learn the only true lesson of equality - the conviction that our destinies are not in our own hands; they will see that no situation in life is without its share of suffering; - and this perpetual reference to a higher power ought equally to teach the rich humility, and the poor devotion.
It is said that ridicule is the test of truth: it is never applied, but when we wish to deceive ourselves.
The lover and the physician are each popular from the same cause - we talk to them of nothing but ourselves.
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