-
It is only those who never think at all, or else who have accustomed themselves to blood invariably on abstract ideas, that ever feel ennui.
-
The poetical impression of any object is that uneasy, exquisite sense of beauty or power that cannot be contained within itself; that is impatient of all limit; that (as flame bends to flame) strives to link itself to some other image of kindred beauty or grandeur; to enshrine itself, as it were, in the highest forms of fancy, and to relieve the aching sense of pleasure by expressing it in the boldest manner.
-
A felon could plead "benefit of clergy" and be saved by [reading aloud] what was aptly enough termed the "neck verse", which was very usually the Miserere mei of Psalm 51.
-
There is no flattery so adroit or effectual as that of implicit assent.
-
Hope is the best possession. None are completely wretched but those who are without hope. Few are reduced so low as that.
-
Give me the clear blue sky over my head, and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and a three hours' march to dinner - and then to thinking! ... I begin to feel, think, and be myself again. Instead of an awkward silence, broken by attempts at wit or dull common-places, mine is that undisturbed silence of the heart which alone is perfect eloquence.
-
There is something captivating in spirit and intrepidity, to which, we often yield as to a resistless power; nor can he reasonably expect, the confidence of others who too apparently distrusts himself.
-
The title of Ultracrepidarian critics has been given to those persons who find fault with small and insignificant details.
-
Pride erects a little kingdom of its own, and acts as sovereign in it.
-
A man knows his companion in a long journey and a little inn.
-
A lively blockhead in company is a public benefit. Silence or dulness by the side of folly looks like wisdom.
-
There are no rules for friendship. It must be left to itself. We cannot force it any more than love.
-
I have a much greater ambition to be the best racket player than the best prose writer.
-
The person whose doors I enter with most pleasure, and quit with most regret, never did me the smallest favor.
-
Our energy is in proportion to the resistance it meets.
-
Genius, like humanity, rusts for want of use.
-
Those who object to wit are envious of it.
-
We never do anything well till we cease to think about the manner of doing it. This is the reason why it is so difficult for any but natives to speak a language correctly or idiomatically.
-
The true barbarian is he who thinks everything barbarous but his own tastes and prejudices.
-
What I mean by living to one's self is living in the world, as in it, not of it.
-
The temple of fame stands upon the grave: the flame that burns upon its altars is kindled from the ashes of great men.
-
The most rational cure after all for the inordinate fear of death is to set a just value on life.
-
The way to get on in the world is to be neither more nor less wise, neither better nor worse than your neighbours.
-
He who would see old Hoghton right Must view it by the pale moonlight.