How Very Satisfactory Those Discussions Must Be,

We Might Have Been - These Are But Common Words, And Yet They Make The Sum Of Life's Bewailing.

The Past Is Perpetual Youth To The Heart.

There Is No Existence So Content As That Whose Present Is Engrossed By Employment, And Whose Future Is Filled By Some Strong Hope, The Truth Of Which Is Never Proved. Toil And Illusion Are The Only Secrets To Make Life Tolerable.

There Is No Wretchedness Like Self-reproach.

To This Hour, The Great Science And Duty Of Politics Is Lowered By The Petty Leaven Of Small And Personal Advantage.