Necessity Is The Spur Of Genius.

The Human Heart May Find Here And There A Resting-place Short Of The Highest Height Of Affection, But We Seldom Stop In The Steep, Downward Slope Of Hatred.

Conscience Is Our Unerring Judge Until We Finally Stifle It.

A Deist Is An Atheist With An Eye Cocked For The Off-chance Of Some Advantage.

The Habits Of Every Animal Are, At Least In The Eyes Of Man, Constantly Similar In All Ages. But The Habits, The Clothes, The Words And The Dwelling Of A Prince, A Banker, An Artist, A Bourgeois, A Priest And A Pauper, Are Wholly Dissimilar And Change At The Will Of Civilizations.

What Moralists Describe As The Mysteries Of The Human Heart Are Solely The Deceiving Thoughts, The Spontaneous Impulses Of Self-regard. The Sudden Changes In Character, About Which So Much Has Been Said, Are Instinctive Calculations For The Furtherance Of Our Own Pleasures. Seeing Himself Now In His Fine Clothes, His New Gloves And Shoes, Eugène De Rastignac Forgot His Noble Resolve. Youth, When It Swerves Toward Wrong, Dares Not Look In The Mirror Of Conscience; Maturity Has Already Seen Itself There. That Is The Whole Difference Between The Two Phases Of Life.