There is no wretchedness like self-reproach.
Alas! we makeA ladder of our thoughts, where angels step,But sleep ourselves at the foot: our high resolvesLook down upon our slumbering acts.
The lover and the physician are each popular from the same cause - we talk to them of nothing but ourselves.
In sad truth, half our forebodings of our neighbors are but our own wishes, which we are ashamed to utter in any other form.
It is said that ridicule is the test of truth: it is never applied, but when we wish to deceive ourselves.
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.
Eyes that droop like summer flowers.
Jealousy ought to be tragic, to save it from being ridiculous.
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.
Business before pleasure.
charity is a calm, severe duty; it must be intellectual, to be advantageous. It is a strange mistake that it should ever be considered a merit; its fulfillment is only what we owe to each other, and is a debt never paid to its full extent.
Affection exaggerates its own offenses.
Conscience, like a child, is soon lulled to sleep.
in came ... a baby, eloquent as infancy usually is, and like most youthful orators, more easily heard than understood.
Of all false assertions that ever went into the world under the banner of a great name and the mail armor of a well-turned phrase, Locke's comparison of the mind to a blank sheet of paper appears to me among the most untrue.
Assuredly, meeting after absence, is one of - ah, no! - it is life's most delicious feeling.
marriage is like money - seem to want it, and you never get it.
Curiosity and courtesy are very often at variance.
A preface is a species of literary luxury, where an author, like a lover, is privileged to be egotistical.
no hour arrives so soon as the one we dread.
Oh, no! my heart can never be Again in lightest hopes the same; The love that lingers there for thee Hath more of ashes than of flame.
anybody's applause is better than nobody's.
A woman's fame is the tomb of her happiness.
My heart is its own grave!
The heart's hushed secret in the soft dark eye.
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