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Poverty has strange bedfellows.
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There's no weapon that slays its victim so surely if well aimed as praise.
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The faults of a brilliant writer are never dangerous on the long run; a thousand people read his work who would read no other; inquiry is directed to each of his doctrines; it is soon discovered what is sound and what is false; the sound become maxims, and the false beacons.
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More is got from one book on which the thought settles for a definite end in knowledge, than from libraries skimmed over by a wandering eye.
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It is difficult to say who do you the most mischief, enemies with the worst intentions, or friends with the best.
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Philosophy, while it soothes the reason, damps the ambition.
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As it has been finely expressed, "Principle is a passion for truth." And as an earlier and homelier writer hath it, "The truths we believe in are the pillars of our world.
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Books are but waste paper unless we spend in action the wisdom we get from thought.
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Prudence, patience, labor, valor; these are the stars that rule the career of mortals.
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Out of the ashes of misanthropy benevolence rises again; we find many virtues where we had imagined all was vice, many acts of disinterested friendship where we had fancied all was calculation and fraud--and so gradually from the two extremes we pass to the proper medium; and, feeling that no human being is wholly good or wholly base, we learn that true knowledge of mankind which induces us to expect little and forgive much. The world cures alike the optimist and the misanthrope.
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Read to live, not live to read.
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Master books, but do not let them master you.
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The first essential to success in the art you practice is respect for the art itself.
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The heart of a man's like that delicate weed, / Which requires to be trampled on, boldly indeed / Ere it gives forth the fragrance you wish to extract.
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Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow,--whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle,--is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.
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It is destiny phrase of the weak human heart! 'It is destiny' dark apology for every error! The strong and virtuous admit no destiny.
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Kindness like light speaks in the air it gilds.
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It is the glorious doom of literature that the evil perishes and the good remains.
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Midnight, and love, and youth, and Italy!
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Beautiful eyes in the face of a handsome woman are like eloquence to speech.
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The affections are immortal! They are the sympathies which unite the ceaseless generations.
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Women love energy and grand results.
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Evening is the delight of virtuous age; it seems an emblem of the tranquil close of busy life--serene, placid, and mild, with the impress of its great Creator stamped upon it; it spreads its quiet wings over the grave, and seems to promise that all shall be peace beyond it.
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Alone!-that worn-out word, So idly spoken, and so coldly heard; Yet all that poets sing and grief hath known Of hopes laid waste, knells in that word ALONE!