Seek not for happiness—­’tis known
  To hope and memory alone;
  At dawn—­how bright the noon will be! 
  At eve—­how fair it glowed, ah, me!

Brain was given to test the heart’s credibility as a witness, yet the philosopher’s lady is almost as fine as the clown’s wench.

“Who art thou, so sorrowful?”

“Ingratitude.  It saddens me to look upon the devastations of Benevolence.”

“Then veil thine eyes, for I am Benevolence.”

“Wretch! thou art my father and my mother.”

Death is the only prosperity that we neither desire for ourselves nor resent in others.

To the small part of ignorance that we can arrange and classify we give the name Knowledge.

“I wish to enter,” said the soul of the voluptuary.

“I am told that all the beautiful women are here.”

“Enter,” said Satan, and the soul of the voluptuary passed in.

“They make the place what it is,” added Satan, as the gates clanged.

Woman would be more charming if one could fall into her arms without falling into her hands.

Think not to atone for wealth by apology:  you must make restitution to the accuser.

Study good women and ignore the rest,
or he best knows the sex who knows the best.

Before undergoing a surgical operation arrange your temporal affairs. 
You may live.

Intolerance is natural and logical, for in every dissenting opinion lies an assumption of superior wisdom.

“Who art thou?” said Saint Peter at the Gate.

“I am known as Memory.”

“What presumption!—­go back to Hell.  And who, perspiring friend, art thou?”

“My name is Satan.  I am looking for——­”

“Take your penal apparatus and be off.”

And Satan, laying hold of Memory, said:  “Come along, you scoundrel! you make happiness wherever you are not.”

Women of genius commonly have masculine faces, figures and manners.  In transplanting brains to an alien soil God leaves a little of the original earth clinging to the roots.

The heels of Detection are sore from the toes of Remorse.

Twice we see Paradise.  In youth we name it Life; in age, Youth.

  There are but ten Commandments, true,
  But that’s no hardship, friend, to you;
  The sins whereof no line is writ
  You’re not commanded to commit.

Fear of the darkness is more than an inherited superstition—­it is at night, mostly, that the king thinks.

“Who art thou?” said Mercy.

“Revenge, the father of Justice.”

“Thou wearest thy son’s clothing.”

“One must be clad.”

“Farewell—­I go to attend thy son.”

“Thou wilt find him hiding in yonder jungle.”

Self-denial is indulgence of a propensity to forego.

Men talk of selecting a wife; horses, of selecting an owner.