“Talking with a friend is nothing else but thinking aloud.”

There is something very sublime, though very fanciful, in Plato’s description of the Supreme Being,–that truth is His body and light His shadow.

Their is no defense against criticism except obscurity.

Admiration is a very short lived passion that immediately decays upon growing familiar with its object, unless it still be fed with fresh discoveries, and kept alive by a new perpetual succession of miracles rising up to its view.

Evil may at some future period bring forth good; and good may bring forth evil, both equally unexpected.

A man who has any relish for fine writing either discovers new beauties or receives stronger impressions from the masterly strokes of a great author every time he peruses him; besides that he naturally wears himself into the same manner of speaking and thinking.

There is noting truly valuable which can be purchased without pains and labor. The gods have set a price upon every real and noble pleasure.

Charity is a virtue of the heart, and not of the hands.

The greatest sweetener of human life is friendship.

No oppression is so heavy or lasting as that which is inflicted by the perversion and exorbitance of legal authority.

There is nothing which we receive with so much reluctance as advice.

If men would consider not so much wherein they differ, as wherein they agree, there would be far less of uncharitableness and angry feeling in the world.

Pedantry in learning is like hypocrisy inn religion–a form of knowledge without the power of it.

If you wish success in life, make perseverance your bosom friend.

One may know a man that never conversed in the world, by his excess of good-breeding.

The only way therefore to try a Piece of Wit, is to translate it into a different Language: If it bears the Test you may pronounceit true; but if it vanishes in the Experiment you may conclude it to have been a Punn.

Whether this happens because they stay so long and attend their work so diligently that they forget the faces and persons, which they first sat down with, or whatever it is, they seldom rise from the toilet the same woman they appeared when they began to dress

It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation. War is hell.

Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that is gone. Aye, and cry aloud for the man who is dead, for the woman and children bereaved.

Secret thinker sometimes listening aloud.