Curiosity Is Its Own Suicide.

I Think Hearts Are Very Much Like Glasses. If They Do Not Break With The First Ring, They Usually Last A Considerable Time.

Habit Is A Second Nature, And What Was At First Pleasure, Is Next Necessity.

Childhood, Whose Very Happiness Is Love.

Anticipation Is A Bad Sleeping Draught.

It Is Amazing How Much A Thought Expands And Refines By Being Put Into Speech: I Should Think It Could Hardly Know Itself.