There is evil poured upon the earth from the overflowings of corruption – Sickness, and poverty, and pain, and guilt, and madness, and sorrow; But, as the water from a fountain riseth and sinketh to its level, Ceaselessly toileth justice to equalize the lots of men.
We are very much what others think of us. The reception our observations meet with gives us courage to proceed, or damps our efforts.
Weakness has its hidden resources, as well as strength. There is a degree of folly and meanness which we cannot calculate upon, and by which we are as much liable to be foiled as by the greatest ability or courage.
The temple of fame stands upon the grave: the flame that burns upon its altars is kindled from the ashes of great men.
Our notions with respect to the importance of life, and our attachment to it, depend on a principle which has very little to do with its happiness or its misery. The love of life is, in general, the effect not of our enjoyments, but of our passions.
It is well there is no one without fault; for he would not have a friend in the world. He would seem to belong to s different species.
Within my heart is lurking suspicion, and base fear, and shame and hate; but above all, tyrannous love sits throned, crowned with her graces, silent and in tears.
We must overact our part in some measure, in order to produce any effect at all.
The Princess Borghese, Bonaparte’s sister, who was no saint, sat to Canova as a reclining Venus, and being asked if she did not feel a little uncomfortable, replied, “No. There was a fire in the room.”
Genius, like humanity, rusts for want of use.
There is nothing more likely to drive a man mad, than the being unable to get rid of the idea of the distinction between right and wrong, and an obstinate, constitutional preference of the true to the agreeable.
No man can thoroughly master more than one art or science.
People are not soured by misfortune, but by the reception they meet with in it.
We can bear to be deprived of everything but our self-conceit.
We can scarcely hate anyone that we know.
Without the aid of prejudice and custom, I should not be able to find my way across the room.
There are few things in which we deceive ourselves more than in the esteem we profess to entertain for our firends. It is little better than a piece of quackery. The truth is, we think of them as we please, that is, as they please or displease us.
If we wish to know the force of human genius, we should read Shakespeare. If we wish to see the insignificance of human learning, we may study his commentators.
Few things tend more to alienate friendship than a want of punctuality in our engagements. I have known the breach of a promise to dine or sup to break up more than one intimacy.
The idea of what the public will think prevents the public from ever thinking at all, and acts as a spell on the exercise of private judgment.