Sorrow is a kind of rust of the soul, which every new idea contributes in its passage to scour away.

You perceive that I do not pretend to write with much consideration of any thing but my own convenience

You seem like most of the writers that have gone before you, to have allowed as an uncontested principle, that marriage is generally unhappy.

I had lately a very remarkable dream, which made so strong an impression on me.

There is, indeed, some danger lest he that too scrupulously balances probabilities, and too perspicaciously foresees obstacles.

How heavily my time revolves along.

The time comes at last, in which life has no more to promise, in which happiness can be drawn only from recollection.

If he succeeds, he benefits his friend, and if he fails, he has at least the consciousness that he suffers for only doing well.