The Happy Never Say, And Never Hear

Piety--warm, Soft, And Passive As The Ether Round The Throne Of Grace--is Made Callous And Inactive By Kneeling Too Much.

The Vain Poet Is Of The Opinion That Nothing Of His Can Be Too Much: He Sends To You Basketful After Basketful Of Juiceless Fruit, Covered With Scentless Flowers.

A Mercantile Democracy May Govern Long And Widely; A Mercantile Aristocracy Cannot Stand.

It Is Delightful To Kiss The Eyelashes Of The Beloved--is It Not? But Never So Delightful As When Fresh Tears Are On Them.

It Has Been My Fortune To Love In General Those Men Most Who Have Thought Most Differently From Me, On Subjects Wherein Others Pardon No Discordance. I Think I Have No More Right To Be Angry With A Man, Whose Reason Has Followed Up A Process Different From What Mine Has, And Is Satisfied With The Result, Than With One Who Has Gone To Venice While I Am At Siena, And Who Writes To Me That He Likes The Place.