Sensations sweet, felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.—Wordsworth.

Great happiness is the fire ordeal of mankind, great misfortune only the trial by water; for the former opens a large extent of futurity, whereas the latter circumscribes or closes it.—Richter.

Prospective happiness is perhaps the only real happiness in the world.—Alfred de Musset.

Nature and individuals are generally best when they are happiest, and deserve heaven most when they have learnt rightly to enjoy it. Tears of sorrow are only pearls of inferior value, but tears of joy are pearls or diamonds of the first water.—Richter.

How many people I have seen who would have plucked cannon-balls out of the muzzles of guns with their bare hands, and yet had not courage enough to be happy.—Theophile Gautier.

All mankind are happier for having been happy, so that, if you make them happy now, you make them happy twenty years hence by the memory of it.—Sydney Smith.

We are no longer happy so soon as we wish to be happier.—Lamotte.

I have now reigned above fifty years in victory or peace, beloved by my subjects, dreaded by my enemies, and respected by my allies. Riches and honors, power and pleasure, have waited on my call, nor does any earthly blessing appear to have been wanting to my felicity. In this situation, I have diligently numbered the days of pure and genuine happiness which have fallen to my lot: they amount to fourteen. O man, place not thy confidence in this present world!—The Caliph Abdalrahman.

If I may speak of myself (the only person of whom I can speak with certainty), my happy hours have far exceeded, and far exceed, the scanty numbers of the caliph of Spain; and I shall not scruple to add that many of them are due to the pleasing labor of the present composition.—Gibbon.

For which we bear to live, or dare to die.—Pope.

We buy wisdom with happiness, and who would purchase it at such a price? To be happy we must forget the past, and think not of the future; and who that has a soul or mind can do this? No one; and this proves that those who have either know no happiness on this earth. Memory precludes happiness, whatever Rogers may say or write to the contrary, for it borrows from the past to embitter the present, bringing back to us all the grief that has most wounded, or the happiness that has most charmed us.—Byron.

The happiness you wot of is not a hundredth part of what you enjoy.—Charles Buxton.

Every human soul has the germ of some flowers within; and they would open if they could only find sunshine and free air to expand in. I always told you that not having enough of sunshine was what ailed the world. Make people happy, and there will not be half the quarreling, or a tenth part of the wickedness there is.—Mrs. L. M. Child.

Comparison, more than reality, makes men happy, and can make them wretched.—Feltham.

Happiness and misery are the names of two extremes, the utmost bounds whereof we know not.—Locke.

There comes forever something between us and what we deem our happiness.—Byron.

Philosophical happiness is to want little; civil or vulgar happiness is to want much, and to enjoy much.—Burke.

How sad a sight is human happiness to those whose thoughts can pierce beyond an hour.—Young.

Plenteous joys, wanton in fullness.—Shakespeare.

Happiness is always the inaccessible castle which sinks in ruin when we set foot on it.—Arsene Houssaye.

For ages happiness has been represented as a huge precious stone, impossible to find, which people seek for hopelessly. It is not so; happiness is a mosaic, composed of a thousand little stones, which separately and of themselves have little value, but which united with art form a graceful design.—Mme. de Girardin.

The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.—George Eliot.

The way to bliss lies not on beds of down.—Quarles.

The use we make of happiness gives us an eternal sentiment of satisfaction or repentance.—Rousseau.

Happiness is where we find it, but rarely where we seek it.—J. Petit Senn.

In regard to the affairs of mortals, there is nothing happy throughout.—Euripides.

Hardship.—The beginning of hardship is like the first taste of bitter food,—it seems for a moment unbearable; yet, if there is nothing else to satisfy our hunger, we take another bite and find it possible to go on.—George Eliot.

Haste.—Let your haste commend your duty.—Shakespeare.

The more haste ever the worst speed.—Churchill.

Hurry and cunning are the two apprentices of dispatch and skill; but neither of them ever learn their master's trade.—Colton.

All haste implies weakness.—George MacDonald.

Hatred.—We hate some persons because we do not know them; and we will not know them because we hate them.—Colton.

Were one to ask me in which direction I think man strongest, I should say, his capacity to hate.—Beecher.

Love is rarely a hypocrite. But hate! how detect, and how guard against it. It lurks where you least expect it; it is created by causes that you can the least foresee; and civilization multiplies its varieties whilst it favors its disguise; for civilization increases the number of contending interests, and refinement renders more susceptible to the least irritation the cuticle of self-love.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Hatred is like fire—it makes even light rubbish deadly.—George Eliot.

Health.—Be it remembered that man subsists upon the air more than upon his meat and drink; but no one can exist for an hour without a copious supply of air. The atmosphere which some breathe is contaminated and adulterated, and with its vital principles so diminished, that it cannot fully decarbonize the blood, nor fully excite the nervous system.—Thackeray.

Those hypochondriacs, who, like Herodius, give up their whole time and thoughts to the care of their health, sacrifice unto life every noble purpose of living; striving to support a frail and feverish being here, they neglect an hereafter; they continue to patch up and repair their mouldering tenement of clay, regardless of the immortal tenant that must survive it; agitated by greater fears than the Apostle, and supported by none of his hopes, they "die daily."—Colton.

Refuse to be ill. Never tell people you are ill; never own it to yourself. Illness is one of those things which a man should resist on principle at the onset.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Health is so necessary to all the duties, as well as pleasures, of life, that the crime of squandering it is equal to the folly.—Johnson.

There are two things in life that a sage must preserve at every sacrifice, the coats of his stomach and the enamel of his teeth. Some evils admit of consolations: there are no comforters for dyspepsia and the toothache.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Heart.—The heart is like the tree that gives balm for the wounds of man only when the iron has pierced it.—Chauteaubriand.

The heart is an astrologer that always divines the truth.—Calderon.

There are treasures laid up in the heart,—treasures of charity, piety, temperance, and soberness. These treasures a man takes with him beyond death when he leaves this world.—Buddhist Scriptures.

In aught that tries the heart, how few withstand the proof!—Byron.

The hearts of pretty women are like bonbons, wrapped up in enigmas.—J. Petit Senn.

A loving heart is the truest wisdom.—Dickens.

To judge human character rightly, a man may sometimes have very small experience, provided he has a very large heart.—Bulwer-Lytton.

The heart has reasons that reason does not understand.—Bossuet.

There are chords in the human heart, strange, varying strings, which are only struck by accident; which will remain mute and senseless to appeals the most passionate and earnest, and respond at last to the slightest casual touch. In the most insensible or childish minds there is some train of reflection which art can seldom lead, or skill assist, but which will reveal itself, as great truths have done, by chance, and when the discoverer has the plainest and simplest end in view.—Dickens.

A willing heart adds feathers to the heel, and makes the clown a winged Mercury.—Joanna Baillie.

Some people's hearts are shrunk in them like dried nuts. You can hear 'em rattle as they walk.—Douglas Jerrold.

Heaven.—The love of heaven makes one heavenly.—Shakespeare.

Where is heaven? I cannot tell. Even to the eye of faith, heaven looks much like a star to the eye of flesh. Set there on the brow of night, it shines most bright, most beautiful; but it is separated from us by so great a distance as to be raised almost as high above our investigations as above the storms and clouds of earth.—Rev. Dr. Guthrie.

When at eve at the bounding of the landscape the heavens appear to recline so slowly on the earth, imagination pictures beyond the horizon an asylum of hope,—a native land of love; and nature seems silently to repeat that man is immortal.—Madame de Stael.

Few, without the hope of another life, would think it worth their while to live above the allurements of sense.—Atterbury.

Heaven is a place of restless activity, the abode of never-tiring thought. David and Isaiah will sweep nobler and loftier strains in eternity, and the minds of the saints, unclogged by cumbersome clay, will forever feast on the banquet of rich and glorious thought.—Beecher.

Heroes.—A light supper, a good night's sleep, and a fine morning have often made a hero of the same man who, by indigestion, a restless night, and a rainy morning would have proved a coward.—Chesterfield.

In analyzing the character of heroes it is hardly possible to separate altogether the share of Fortune from their own.—Hallam.

Mankind is not disposed to look narrowly into the conduct of great victors when their victory is on the right side.—George Eliot.

No one is a hero to his valet.—Madame de Sevigne.

History.—The Grecian history is a poem, Latin history a picture, modern history a chronicle.—Chauteaubriand.

If men could learn from history, what lessons it might teach us! But passion and party blind our eyes, and the light which experience gives is a lantern on the stern, which shines only on the waves behind us!—Coleridge.

History, which is, indeed, little more than the register of the crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind.—Gibbon.

We must consider how very little history there is; I mean real, authentic history. That certain kings reigned and certain battles were fought we can depend upon as true; but all the coloring, all the philosophy of history, is conjecture.—Johnson.

History needs distance, perspective. Facts and events which are too well attested cease, in some sort, to be malleable.—Joubert.

To be entirely just in our estimate of other ages is not only difficult,—it is impossible. Even what is passing in our presence we see but through a glass darkly. The mind as well as the eye adds something of its own before an image, even of the clearest object, can be painted upon it; and in historical inquiries the most instructed thinkers have but a limited advantage over the most illiterate. Those who know the most approach least to agreement.—Froude.

The impartiality of history is not that of the mirror which merely reflects objects, but of the judge who sees, listens, and decides.—Lamartine.

In every human character and transaction there is a mixture of good and evil: a little exaggeration, a little suppression, a judicious use of epithets, a watchful and searching skepticism with respect to the evidence on one side, a convenient credulity with respect to every report or tradition on the other, may easily make a saint of Laud, or a tyrant of Henry the Fourth.—Macaulay.

History is but a kind of Newgate calendar, a register of the crimes and miseries that man has inflicted on his fellow-man.—Washington Irving.

History has its foreground and its background, and it is principally in the management of its perspective that one artist differs from another. Some events must be represented on a large scale, others diminished; the great majority will be lost in the dimness of the horizon, and a general idea of their joint effect will be given by a few slight touches.—Macaulay.

Violent natures make history. The instruments they use almost always kill. Religion and philosophy have their vestments covered with innocent blood.—X. Doudan.

Each generation gathers together the imperishable children of the past, and increases them by new sons of light, alike radiant with immortality.—Bancroft.

What history is not richer, does not contain far more, than they by whom it is enacted, the present witnesses! What mortal understandeth his way?—Jacobi.

He alone reads history aright, who, observing how powerfully circumstances influence the feelings and opinions of men, how often vices pass into virtues, and paradoxes into axioms, learns to distinguish what is accidental and transitory in human nature from what is essential and immutable.—Macaulay.

Home.—Home is the grandest of all institutions.—Spurgeon.

The first sure symptom of a mind in health is rest of heart, and pleasure felt at home.—Young.

To most men their early home is no more than a memory of their early years, and I'm not sure but they have the best of it. The image is never marred. There's no disappointment in memory, and one's exaggerations are always on the good side.—George Eliot.

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.—Payne.

Stint yourself, as you think good, in other things; but don't scruple freedom in brightening home. Gay furniture and a brilliant garden are a sight day by day, and make life blither.—Charles Buxton.

Home is the seminary of all other institutions.—Chapin.

Honesty.—If he does really think that there is no distinction between virtue and vice, why, sir, when he leaves our houses let us count our spoons.—Johnson.

Persons lightly dipped, not grained, in generous honesty, are but pale in goodness.—Sir T. Browne.

Refined policy has ever been the parent of confusion, and ever will be so, as long as the world endures. Plain good intention, which is as easily discovered at the first view as fraud is surely detected at last, is, let me say, of no mean force in the government of mankind. Genuine simplicity of heart is a healing and cementing principle.—Burke.

Money dishonestly acquired is never worth its cost, while a good conscience never costs as much as it is worth.—J. Petit Senn.

The honest man is a rare variety of the human species.—Chamfort.

Honor.—Keep unscathed the good name, keep out of peril the honor, without which even your battered old soldier, who is hobbling into his grave on half pay and a wooden leg, would not change with Achilles.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Hope.—Hope warps judgment in council, but quickens energy in action.—Bulwer-Lytton.

"I have a fine lot of hopes here in my basket," remarked the New Year; "they are a sweet-smelling flower—a species of roses."—Hawthorne.

Hope is the most beneficial of all the affections, and doth much to the prolongation of life, if it be not too often frustrated; but entertaineth the fancy with an expectation of good.—Bacon.

The mighty hopes that make us men.—Tennyson.

Thou captive's freedom, and thou sick man's health.—Cowley.

I have a knack of hoping, which is as good as an estate in reversion, if one can keep from the temptation of turning it into certainty, which may spoil all.—George Eliot.

Hope, folding her wings, looked backward and became regret.—George Eliot.

Hope is always liberal, and they that trust her promises make little scruple of reveling to-day on the profits of to-morrow.—Johnson.

It is necessary to hope, though hope should be always deluded; for hope itself is happiness and its frustrations, however frequent, are yet less dreadful than its extinction.—Johnson.

Hope is a delusion; no hand can grasp a wave or a shadow.—Victor Hugo.

Humanity.—A man's nature runs either to herbs or weeds: therefore let him seasonably water the one and destroy the other.—Bacon.

I own that there is a haughtiness and fierceness in human nature which will cause innumerable broils, place men in what situation you please.—Burke.

Human nature is not so much depraved as to hinder us from respecting goodness in others, though we ourselves want it. This is the reason why we are so much charmed with the pretty prattle of children, and even the expressions of pleasure or uneasiness in some parts of the brute creation. They are without artifice or malice; and we love truth too well to resist the charms of sincerity.—Steele.

I do not know what comfort other people find in considering the weakness of great men, but 'tis always a mortification to me to observe that there is no perfection in humanity.—Montagu.

The true proof of the inherent nobleness of our common nature is in the sympathy it betrays with what is noble wherever crowds are collected. Never believe the world is base; if it were so, no society could hold together for a day.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Humility.—It is from out the depths of our humility that the height of our destiny looks grandest. Let me truly feel that in myself I am nothing, and at once, through every inlet of my soul, God comes in, and is everything in me.—Mountford.

Should any ask me, What is the first thing in religion? I would reply, The first, second, and third thing therein, nay all, is humility.—St. Augustine.

Epaminondas, that heathen captain, finding himself lifted up in the day of his public triumph, the next day went drooping and hanging down his head; but being asked what was the reason of his so great dejection, made answer: "Yesterday I felt myself transported with vainglory, therefore I chastise myself for it to-day."—Plutarch.

In humility imitate Jesus and Socrates.—Franklin.

Believe me, the much-praised lambs of humility would not bear themselves so meekly if they but possessed tigers' claws.—Heinrich Heine.

Trees that, like the poplar, lift upwards all their boughs, give no shade and no shelter, whatever their height. Trees the most lovingly shelter and shade us when, like the willow, the higher soar their summits, the lowlier droop their bows.—Bulwer-Lytton.

If thou wouldst find much favor and peace with God and man, be very low in thine own eyes. Forgive thyself little and others much.—Archbishop Leighton.

Humor.—The genius of the Spanish people is exquisitely subtile, without being at all acute: hence there is so much humor and so little wit in their literature. The genius of the Italians, on the contrary, is acute, profound, and sensual, but not subtile; hence what they think to be humorous is merely witty.—Coleridge.

The oil and wine of merry meeting.—Washington Irving.

These poor gentlemen endeavor to gain themselves the reputation of wits and humorists, by such monstrous conceits as almost qualify them for bedlam; not considering that humor should always lie under the check of reason, and that it requires the direction of the nicest judgment, by so much the more as it indulges itself in the most boundless freedoms.—Addison.

Hyperbole.—Sprightly natures, full of fire, and whom a boundless imagination carries beyond all rules, and even what is reasonable, cannot rest satisfied with hyperbole.—Bruyere.

Let us have done with reproaching; for we may throw out so many reproachful words on one another that a ship of a hundred oars would not be able to carry the load.—Homer.

Hypocrisy.—Whoever is a hypocrite in his religion mocks God, presenting to him the outside, and reserving the inward for his enemy.—Jeremy Taylor.

Hypocrisy has become a fashionable vice, and all fashionable vices pass for virtue.—Moliere.

Hypocrisy is much more eligible than open infidelity and vice: it wears the livery of religion, and is cautious of giving scandal.—Swift.

Sin is not so sinful as hypocrisy.—Mme. de Maintenon.

As a man loves gold, in that proportion he hates to be imposed upon by counterfeits; and in proportion as a man has regard for that which is above price and better than gold, he abhors that hypocrisy which is but its counterfeit.—Cecil.

Hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.—Milton.

Hypocrisy, detest her as we may, and no man's hatred ever wronged her yet, may claim this merit still: that she admits the worth of what she mimics with such care.—Cowper.

I hate hypocrites, who put on their virtues with their white gloves.—Alfred de Musset.

Such a man will omit neither family worship, nor a sneer at his neighbor. He will neither milk his cows on the first day of the week without a Sabbath mask on his face, nor remove it while he waters the milk for his customers.—George Mac Donald.

The fatal fact in the case of a hypocrite is that he is a hypocrite.—Chapin.

'Tis a cowardly and servile humor to hide and disguise a man's self under a vizor, and not to dare to show himself what he is. By that our followers are train'd up to treachery. Being brought up to speak what is not true, they make no conscience of a lie.—Montaigne.

I.

Ideas.—After all has been said that can be said about the widening influence of ideas, it remains true that they would hardly be such strong agents unless they were taken in a solvent of feeling. The great world-struggle of developing thought is continually foreshadowed in the struggle of the affections, seeking a justification for love and hope.—George Eliot.

Our ideas are transformed sensations.—Condillac.

In these days we fight for ideas, and newspapers are our fortresses.—Heinrich Heine.

Many ideas grow better when transplanted into another mind than in the one where they sprung up. That which was a weed in one intelligence becomes a flower in the other, and a flower again dwindles down to a mere weed by the same change. Healthy growths may become poisonous by falling upon the wrong mental soil, and what seemed a night-shade in one mind unfolds as a morning-glory in the other.—Holmes.

A fixed idea is like the iron rod which sculptors put in their statues. It impales and sustains.—Taine.

Old ideas are prejudices, and new ones caprices.—X. Doudan.

We live in an age in which superfluous ideas abound and essential ideas are lacking.—Joubert.

Ideas are like beards; men do not have them until they grow up.—Voltaire.

Our ideas, like orange-plants, spread out in proportion to the size of the box which imprisons the roots.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Idleness.—If idleness do not produce vice or malevolence, it commonly produces melancholy.—Sydney Smith.

Idleness is the key of beggary, and the root of all evil.—Spurgeon.

In idleness there is perpetual despair.—Carlyle.

Doing nothing with a deal of skill.—Cowper.

From its very inaction, idleness ultimately becomes the most active cause of evil; as a palsy is more to be dreaded than a fever. The Turks have a proverb, which says, that the devil tempts all other men, but that idle men tempt the devil.—Colton.

The first external revelations of the dry-rot in men is a tendency to lurk and lounge; to be at street corners without intelligible reason; to be going anywhere when met; to be about many places rather than any; to do nothing tangible but to have an intention of performing a number of tangible duties to-morrow or the day after.—Dickens.

Idleness is only the refuge of weak minds, and the holiday of fools.—Chesterfield.

So long as idleness is quite shut out from our lives, all the sins of wantonness, softness, and effeminacy are prevented; and there is but little room for temptation.—Jeremy Taylor.

Let but the hours of idleness cease, and the bow of Cupid will become broken and his torch extinguished.—Ovid.

Ignorance.—Have the courage to be ignorant of a great number of things, in order to avoid the calamity of being ignorant of everything.—Sydney Smith.

There is no calamity like ignorance.—Richter.

'Tis sad work to be at that pass, that the best trial of truth must be the multitude of believers, in a crowd where the number of fools so much exceeds that of the wise. As if anything were so common as ignorance!—Montaigne.

Ignorance, which in behavior mitigates a fault, is, in literature, a capital offense.—Joubert.

There is no slight danger from general ignorance; and the only choice which Providence has graciously left to a vicious government is either to fall by the people, if they are suffered to become enlightened, or with them, if they are kept enslaved and ignorant.—Coleridge.

To be ignorant of one's ignorance is the malady of ignorance.—Alcott.

The true instrument of man's degradation is his ignorance.—Lady Morgan.

Ignorance is not so damnable as humbug, but when it prescribes pills it may happen to do more harm.—George Eliot.

The ignorant hath an eagle's wings and an owl's eyes.—George Herbert.

Ignorance is mere privation, by which nothing can be produced; it is a vacuity in which the soul sits motionless and torpid for want of attraction.—Johnson.

Illusion.—In youth we feel richer for every new illusion; in maturer years, for every one we lose.—Madame Swetchine.

Illusion is the first of all pleasures.—Voltaire.

Imagination.—We are all of us imaginative in some form or other, for images are the brood of desire.—George Eliot.

A vile imagination, once indulged, gets the key of our minds, and can get in again very easily, whether we will or no, and can so return as to bring seven other spirits with it more wicked than itself; and what may follow no one knows.—Spurgeon.

He who has imagination without learning has wings and no feet.—Joubert.

No man will be found in whose mind airy notions do not sometimes tyrannize, and force him to hope or fear beyond the limits of sober probability.—Johnson.

Imitation.—Imitators are a servile race.—Fontaine.

Imitation causes us to leave natural ways to enter into artificial ones; it therefore makes slaves.—Dr. Vinet.

"Name to me an animal, though never so skillful, that I cannot imitate!" So bragged the ape to the fox. But the fox replied, "And do thou name to me an animal so humble as to think of imitating thee."—Lessing.

Immortality.—When I consider the wonderful activity of the mind, so great a memory of what is past, and such a capacity of penetrating into the future; when I behold such a number of arts and sciences, and such a multitude of discoveries thence arising; I believe and am firmly persuaded that a nature which contains so many things within itself cannot be mortal.—Cicero.

Whatsoever that be within us that feels, thinks, desires, and animates, is something celestial, divine, and consequently imperishable.—Aristotle.

The spirit of man, which God inspired, cannot together perish with this corporeal clod.—Milton.

All men's souls are immortal, but the souls of the righteous are immortal and divine.—Socrates.

What springs from earth dissolves to earth again, and heaven-born things fly to their native seat.—Marcus Antoninus.

The seed dies into a new life, and so does man.—George MacDonald.

Impatience.—Impatience turns an ague into a fever, a fever to the plague, fear into despair, anger into rage, loss into madness, and sorrow to amazement.—Jeremy Taylor.

Impossibility.—One great difference between a wise man and a fool is, the former only wishes for what he may possibly obtain; the latter desires impossibilities.—Democritus.

Improvement.—Slumber not in the tents of your fathers. The world is advancing. Advance with it.—Mazzini.

People seldom improve when they have no other model but themselves to copy after.—Goldsmith.

Improvidence.—How full or how empty our lives, depends, we say, on Providence. Suppose we say, more or less on improvidence.—Bovee.

Income.—Our incomes are like our shoes; if too small, they gall and pinch us; but if too large, they cause us to stumble and to trip.—Colton.

Inconsistency.—Men talk as if they believed in God, but they live as if they thought there was none: their vows and promises are no more than words of course.—L'Estrange.

People are so ridiculous with their illusions, carrying their fool's caps unawares, thinking their own lies opaque while everybody else's are transparent, making themselves exceptions to everything, as if when all the world looked yellow under a lamp they alone were rosy.—George Eliot.

Inconstancy.—The catching court disease.—Otway.

Nothing that is not a real crime makes a man appear so contemptible and little in the eyes of the world as inconstancy.—Addison.

Indifference.—Nothing for preserving the body like having no heart.—J. Petit Senn.

Indifference is the invincible giant of the world.—Ouida.

Indigestion.—Old friendships are destroyed by toasted cheese, and hard salted meat has led to suicide. Unpleasant feelings of the body produce correspondent sensations in the mind, and a great scene of wretchedness is sketched out by a morsel of indigestible and misguided food.—Sydney Smith.

Individuality.—There are men of convictions whose very faces will light up an era, and there are believing women in whose eyes you may almost read the whole plan of salvation.—T. Fields.

Individuality is everywhere to be spared and respected as the root of everything good.—Richter.

The epoch of individuality is concluded, and it is the duty of reformers to initiate the epoch of association. Collective man is omnipotent upon the earth he treads.—Mazzini.

Indolence.—I look upon indolence as a sort of suicide; for the man is effectually destroyed, though the appetite of the brute may survive.—Chesterfield.

Lives spent in indolence, and therefore sad.—Cowper.

Days of respite are golden days.—South.

So long as he must fight his way, the man of genius pushes forward, conquering and to conquer. But how often is he at last overcome by a Capua! Ease and fame bring sloth and slumber.—Charles Buxton.

Nothing ages like laziness.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Indulgence.—One wishes to be happy before becoming wise.—Mme. Necker.

Industry.—Mankind are more indebted to industry than ingenuity; the gods set up their favors at a price, and industry is the purchaser.—Addison.

Application is the price to be paid for mental acquisition. To have the harvest we must sow the seed.—Bailey.

Infidelity.—There is but one thing without honor; smitten with eternal barrenness, inability to do or to be,—insincerity, unbelief. He who believes no thing, who believes only the shows of things, is not in relation with nature and fact at all.—Carlyle.

I would rather dwell in the dim fog of superstition than in air rarefied to nothing by the air-pump of unbelief; in which the panting breast expires, vainly and convulsively gasping for breath.—Richter.

If on one side there are fair proofs, and no pretense of proof on the other, and that the difficulties are more pressing on that side which is destitute of proof, I desire to know whether this be not upon the matter as satisfactory to a wise man as a demonstration.—Tillotson.

The nurse of infidelity is sensuality.—Cecil.

Men always grow vicious before they become unbelievers; but if you would once convince profligates by topics drawn from the view of their own quiet, reputation, and health, their infidelity would soon drop off.—Swift.

Infidelity gives nothing in return for what it takes away. What, then, is it worth? Everything valuable has a compensating power. Not a blade of grass that withers, or the ugliest weed that is flung away to rot and die, but reproduces something.—Dr. Chalmers.

Infirmities.—Never mind what a man's virtues are; waste no time in learning them. Fasten at once on his infirmities.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Influence.—He who wishes to exert a useful influence must be careful to insult nothing. Let him not be troubled by what seems absurd, but let him consecrate his energies to the creation of what is good. He must not demolish, but build. He must raise temples where mankind may come and partake of the purest pleasures.—Goethe.

If I can put one touch of a rosy sunset into the life of any man or woman, I shall feel that I have worked with God.—George MacDonald.

The city reveals the moral ends of being, and sets the awful problem of life. The country soothes us, refreshes us, lifts us up with religious suggestion.—Chapin.

It is the age that forms the man, not the man that forms the age. Great minds do indeed react on the society which has made them what they are, but they only pay with interest what they have received.—Macaulay.

In families well ordered there is always one firm, sweet temper, which controls without seeming to dictate. The Greeks represented Persuasion as crowned.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Ingratitude.—The great bulk of mankind resemble the swine, which in harvest gather and fatten upon the acorns beneath the oak, but show to the tree which bore them no other thanks than rubbing off its bark, and tearing up the sod around it.—Scriver.

One great cause of our insensibility to the goodness of our Creator is the very extensiveness of his bounty.—Paley.

Injustice.—The injustice of men subserves the justice of God, and often his mercy.—Madame Swetchine.

Ink.—A drop of ink may make a million think.—Byron.

Let there be gall enough in thy ink; though thou write with a goose-pen, no matter.—Shakespeare.

The colored slave that waits upon thought.—Mrs. Balfour.

Oh, she is fallen into a pit of ink, that the wide sea hath drops too few to wash her clean again!—Shakespeare.

My ways are as broad as the king's high road, and my means lie in an inkstand.—Southey.

Innocence.—He's armed without that's innocent within.—Pope.

There is no courage but in innocence.—Southern.

There is no man so good who, were he to submit all his thoughts and actions to the law, would not deserve hanging ten times in his life.—Montaigne.

Innovation.—The ridiculous rage for innovation, which only increases the weight of the chains it cannot break, shall never fire my blood!—Schiller.

Dislike of innovation proceeds sometimes from the disgust excited by false humanity, canting hypocrisy, and silly enthusiasm.—Sydney Smith.

Insanity.—Insanity is not a distinct and separate empire; our ordinary life borders upon it, and we cross the frontier in some part of our nature.—Taine.

Inspiration.—Do we not all agree to call rapid thought and noble impulse by the name of inspiration? After our subtlest analysis of the mental process, we must still say that our highest thoughts and our best deeds are all given to us.—George Eliot.

Contagious enthusiasm.—Mrs. Balfour.

Instinct.—The instinct of brutes and insects can be the effect of nothing else than the wisdom and skill of a powerful ever-living agent.—Newton.

Instinct harmonizes the interior of animals as religion does the interior of men.—Jacobi.

All our first movements are good, generous, heroical; reflection weakens and kills them.—Aime Martin.

An instinct is a propensity prior to experience, and independent of instruction.—Paley.

Insult.—It is only the vulgar who are always fancying themselves insulted. If a man treads on another's toe in good society do you think it is taken as an insult?—Lady Hester Stanhope.

I once met a man who had forgiven an injury. I hope some day to meet the man who has forgiven an insult.—Charles Buxton.

Insurrection.—Insurrection unusually gains little; usually wastes how much! One of its worst kind of wastes, to say nothing of the rest, is that of irritating and exasperating men against each other by violence done; which is always sure to be injustice done, for violence does even justice unjustly.—Carlyle.

Intellect.—The commerce of intellect loves distant shores. The small retail dealer trades only with his neighbor; when the great merchant trades, he links the four quarters of the globe.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Intelligence.—The higher feelings, when acting in harmonious combination, and directed by enlightened intellect, have a boundless scope for gratification; their least indulgence is delightful, and their highest activity is bliss.—Combe.

Some men of a secluded and studious life have sent forth from their closet or their cloister, rays of intellectual light that have agitated courts and revolutionized kingdoms; like the moon which, though far removed from the ocean, and shining upon it with a serene and sober light, is the chief cause of all those ebbings and flowings which incessantly disturb that restless world of waters.—Colton.

Light has spread, and even bayonets think.—Kossuth.

Intelligence is a luxury, sometimes useless, sometimes fatal. It is a torch or a fire-brand according to the use one makes of it.—Fernan Caballero.

Intemperance.—The body, overcharged with the excess of yesterday, weighs down the mind together with itself, and fixes to the earth that particle of the divine spirit.—Horace.

Intemperance is a great decayer of beauty.—Junius.

Intolerance.—Nothing dies so hard, and rallies so often, as intolerance.—Beecher.

Intolerance is the curse of every age and state.—Dr. Davies.

Invective.—Invective may be a sharp weapon, but over-use blunts its edge. Even when the denunciation is just and true, it is an error of art to indulge in it too long.—Tyndall.

Invention.—Invention is a kind of muse, which, being possessed of the other advantages common to her sisters, and being warmed by the fire of Apollo, is raised higher than the rest.—Dryden.

Invention, strictly speaking, is little more than a new combination of those images which have been previously gathered and deposited in the memory. Nothing can be made of nothing: he who has laid up no materials can produce no combinations.—Sir J. Reynolds.

Irony.—Irony is to the high-bred what billingsgate is to the vulgar; and when one gentleman thinks another gentleman an ass, he does not say it point-blank, he implies it in the politest terms he can invent.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Irresolution.—Irresolution is a worse vice than rashness. He that shoots best may sometimes miss the mark; but he that shoots not at all can never hit it. Irresolution loosens all the joints of a state; like an ague, it shakes not this nor that limb, but all the body is at once in a fit. The irresolute man is lifted from one place to another; so hatcheth nothing, but addles all his actions.—Feltham.

Irresolution on the schemes of life which offer themselves to our choice, and inconstancy in pursuing them, are the greatest causes of all our unhappiness.—Addison.

Irresolute people let their soup grow cold between the plate and the mouth.—Cervantes.

Irritability.—Irritability urges us to take a step as much too soon as sloth does too late.—Cecil.

An irritable man lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way, tormenting himself with his own prickles.—Hood.

Ivy.—The stateliest building man can raise is the ivy's food at last.—Dickens.

The ivy, like the spider, takes hold with her hands in king's palaces, as every twig is furnished with innumerable little fingers, by which it draws itself close, as it were, to the very heart of the old rough stone. Its clinging and beautiful tenacity has given rise to an abundance of conceits about fidelity, friendship, and woman's love, which have become commonplace simply from their appropriateness. It might also symbolize the higher love, unconquerable and unconquered, which has embraced this ruined world from age to age, silently spreading its green over the rents and fissures of our fallen nature.—Mrs. Stowe.

J.

Jealousy.—What frenzy dictates, jealousy believes.—Gay.

Jealousy sees things always with magnifying glasses which make little things large, of dwarfs giants, suspicions truths.—Cervantes.

'Tis a monster begot upon itself, born on itself.—Shakespeare.

Women detest a jealous man whom they do not love, but it angers them when a man they do love is not jealous.—Ninon de L'Enclos.

A jealous man always finds more than he looks for.—Mlle. de Scudery.

Jealousy is the sister of love, as the devil is the brother of angels.—Boufflers.

Jesting.—Jests—Brain fleas that jump about among the slumbering ideas.—Heinrich Heine.

The jest loses its point when the wit is the first to laugh.—Schiller.

And generally, men ought to find the difference between saltness and bitterness. Certainly, he that hath a satirical vein, as he maketh others afraid of his wit, so he had need be afraid of other's memory.—Bacon.

Jewelry.—Jewels! It's my belief that when woman was made, jewels were invented only to make her the more mischievous.—Douglas Jerrold.

Jews.—Talk what you will of the Jews; that they are cursed: they thrive wherever they come; they are able to oblige the prince of their country by lending him money; none of them beg; they keep together; and as for their being hated, why Christians hate one another as much.—Selden.

They are a piece of stubborn antiquity, compared with which Stonehenge is in its nonage. They date beyond the Pyramids.—Lamb.

Joy.—The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy.—Pope.

Worldly joy is like the songs which peasants sing, full of melodies and sweet airs.—Beecher.

Redundant joy, like a poor miser, beggar'd by his store.—Young.

We lose the peace of years when we hunt after the rapture of moments.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Joy is the best of wine.—George Eliot.

Joy in this world is like a rainbow, which in the morning only appears in the west, or towards the evening sky; but in the latter hours of day casts its triumphal arch over the east, or morning sky.—Richter.

Judgment.—The more one judges, the less one loves.—Balzac.

I mistrust the judgment of every man in a case in which his own wishes are concerned.—Wellington.

Judgment and reason have been grand jurymen since before Noah was a sailor.—Shakespeare.

A flippant, frivolous man may ridicule others, may controvert them, scorn them; but he who has any respect for himself seems to have renounced the right of thinking meanly of others.—Goethe.

In judging of others a man laboreth in vain, often erreth, and easily sinneth; but in judging and examining himself, he always laboreth fruitfully.—Thomas a Kempis.

I have seen, when after execution judgment hath repented o'er his doom.—Shakespeare.

Foolish men imagine that because judgment for an evil thing is delayed, there is no justice, but an accident alone, here below. Judgment for an evil thing is many times delayed some day or two, some century or two, but it is sure as life, it is sure as death!—Carlyle.

Human judgment, like Luther's drunken peasant, when saved from falling on one side, topples over on the other.—Mazzini.

The contemporary mind may in rare cases be taken by storm; but posterity never. The tribunal of the present is accessible to influence; that of the future is incorrupt.—Gladstone.

Upon any given point, contradictory evidence seldom puzzles the man who has mastered the laws of evidence, but he knows little of the laws of evidence who has not studied the unwritten law of the human heart; and without this last knowledge a man of action will not attain to the practical, nor will a poet achieve the ideal.—Bulwer-Lytton.

How little do they see what is, who frame their hasty judgment upon that which seems.—Southey.

Justice.—It is the pleasure of the gods—that what is in conformity with justice shall also be in conformity to the laws.—Socrates.

Justice delayed is justice denied.—Gladstone.

Justice advances with such languid steps that crime often escapes from its slowness. Its tardy and doubtful course causes too many tears to be shed.—Corneille.

Justice is truth in action.—Joubert.

At present we can only reason of the divine justice from what we know of justice in man. When we are in other scenes we may have truer and nobler ideas of it; but while we are in this life we can only speak from the volume that is laid open before us.—Pope.

Strike if you will, but hear.—Themistocles.

When Infinite Wisdom established the rule of right and honesty, He saw to it that justice should be always the highest expediency.—Wendell Phillips.

But Justice shines in smoky cottages, and honors the pious. Leaving with averted eyes the gorgeous glare obtained by polluted hands, she is wont to draw nigh to holiness, not reverencing wealth when falsely stamped with praise, and assigning each deed its righteous doom.—AEschylus.

God's mill grinds slow but sure.—George Herbert.

Who shall put his finger on the work of justice, and say, "It is there?" Justice is like the kingdom of God—it is not without us as a fact, it is within us as a great yearning.—George Eliot.

Justice claims what is due, polity what is seemly; justice weighs and decides, polity surveys and orders; justice refers to the individual, polity to the community.—Goethe.

K.

Kindness.—Yes! you may find people ready enough to do the Samaritan without the oil and twopence.—Sydney Smith.

Paradise is open to all kind hearts.—Beranger.

Kind words produce their own image in men's souls; and a beautiful image it is. They soothe and quiet and comfort the hearer. They shame him out of his sour, morose, unkind feelings. We have not yet begun to use kind words in such abundance as they ought to be used.—Pascal.

To cultivate kindness is a valuable part of the business of life.—Johnson.

To remind a man of a kindness conferred is little less than a reproach.—Demosthenes.

Kindness is the only charm permitted to the aged; it is the coquetry of white hair.—O. Feuillet.

Sow good services; sweet remembrances will grow from them.—Mme. de Stael.

Kings.—Kings wish to be absolute, and they are sometimes told that their best way to become so is to make themselves beloved by the people. This maxim is doubtless a very admirable one, and in some respects true; but unhappily it is laughed at in court.—Rousseau.

Implements of war and subjugation are the last arguments to which kings resort.—Patrick Henry.

A king ought not fall from the throne except with the throne itself; under its lofty ruins he alone finds an honored death and an honored tomb.—Alfieri.

One of the strongest natural proofs of the folly of hereditary right in kings is, that nature disapproves it; otherwise she would not so frequently turn it into ridicule by giving mankind an ass in place of a lion.—Thomas Paine.

He on whom Heaven confers a sceptre knows not the weight till he bears it.—Corneille.

Kings' titles commonly begin by force which time wears off, and mellows into right; and power which in one age is tyranny is ripened in the next to true succession.—Dryden.

Kisses.—It is as old as the creation, and yet as young and fresh as ever. It preexisted, still exists, and always will exist. Depend upon it, Eve learned it in Paradise, and was taught its beauties, virtues, and varieties by an angel, there is something so transcendent in it.—Haliburton.

Dear as remembered kisses after death.—Tennyson.

Or leave a kiss but in the cup, and I'll not look for wine.—Ben Jonson.

He kissed her and promised. Such beautiful lips! Man's usual fate—he was lost upon the coral reefs.—Douglas Jerrold.

Eden revives in the first kiss of love.—Byron.

You would think that, if our lips were made of horn, and stuck out a foot or two from our faces, kisses at any rate would be done for. Not so. No creatures kiss each other so much as birds.—Charles Buxton.

That farewell kiss which resembles greeting, that last glance of love which becomes the sharpest pang of sorrow.—George Eliot.

Stolen kisses are always sweetest.—Leigh Hunt.

Sharp is the kiss of the falcon's beak.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Four sweet lips, two pure souls, and one undying affection,—these are love's pretty ingredients for a kiss.—Bovee.

Knavery.—Unluckily the credulity of dupes is as inexhaustible as the invention of knaves. They never give people possession; but they always keep them in hope.—Burke.

After long experience in the world I affirm, before God, I never knew a rogue who was not unhappy.—Junius.

By fools knaves fatten; by bigots priests are well clothed; every knave finds a gull.—Zimmerman.

Knowledge.—The sure foundations of the state are laid in knowledge, not in ignorance; and every sneer at education, at culture, at book learning, which is the recorded wisdom of the experience of mankind, is the demagogue's sneer at intelligent liberty, inviting national degeneracy and ruin.—G. W. Curtis.

Knowledge, like religion, must be "experienced," in order to be known.—Whipple.

The pleasure and delight of knowledge far surpasseth all other in nature. We see in all other pleasures there is satiety; and after they be used, their verdure departeth, which showeth well that they be but deceits of pleasure, and not pleasures; and that it was the novelty which pleased, not the quality; and therefore we see that voluptuous men turn friars, and ambitious princes turn melancholy. But of knowledge there is no satiety, but satisfaction and appetite are perpetually interchangeable.—Bacon.

What novelty is worth the sweet monotony where everything is known, and loved because it is known?—George Eliot.

The truth is, that most men want knowledge, not for itself, but for the superiority which knowledge confers; and the means they employ to secure this superiority are as wrong as the ultimate object, for no man can ever end with being superior who will not begin with being inferior.—Sydney Smith.

He who knows much has much to care for.—Lessing.

Properly, there is no other knowledge but that which is got by working: the rest is yet all a hypothesis of knowledge; a thing to be argued of in schools; a thing floating in the clouds, in endless logic-vortices, till we try and fix it.—Carlyle.

He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.—Bible.

To know by rote is no knowledge; it is only a retention of what is intrusted to the memory. That which a man truly knows may be disposed of without regard to the author, or reference to the book from whence he had it.—Montaigne.

He who cherishes his old knowledge, so as continually to acquire new, he may be a teacher of others.—Confucius.

A taste of every sort of knowledge is necessary to form the mind, and is the only way to give the understanding its due improvement to the full extent of its capacity.—Locke.

Knowledge has, in our time, triumphed, and is triumphing, over prejudice, and over bigotry. The civilized and Christian world is fast learning the great lesson, that difference of nation does not imply necessary hostility, and that all contact need not be war. The whole world is becoming a common field for intellect to act in. Energy of mind, genius, power, wheresoever it exists, may speak out in any tongue, and the world will hear it.—Daniel Webster.

Knowledge once gained casts a faint light beyond its own immediate boundaries.—Tyndall.

The shortest and the surest way of arriving at real knowledge is to unlearn the lessons we have been taught, to remount to first principles, and take nobody's word about them.—Bolingbroke.

Sorrow is knowledge; they who know the most must mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth; the tree of knowledge is not that of life.—Byron.

The seeds of knowledge maybe planted in solitude, but must be cultivated in public.—Johnson.

Knowledge dwells in heads replete with thoughts of other men; Wisdom, in minds attentive to their own.—Cowper.

It is the glorious prerogative of the empire of knowledge, that what it gains it never loses. On the contrary, it increases by the multiple of its own power; all its ends become means; all its attainments helps to new conquests.—Daniel Webster.

The love of knowledge in a young mind is almost a warrant against the infirm excitement of passions and vices.—Beecher.

There is nothing so minute, or inconsiderable, that I would not rather know it than not.—Johnson.

We always know everything when it serves no purpose, and when the seal of the irreparable has been set upon events.—Theophile Gautier.

All the knowledge that we mortals can acquire is not knowledge positive, but knowledge comparative, and subject to the errors and passions of humanity.—Bulwer-Lytton.

L.

Labor.—Labor is the divine law of our existence; repose is desertion and suicide.—Mazzini.

Labor is life: from the inmost heart of the worker rises his God-given force, the sacred celestial life-essence breathed into him by Almighty God!—Carlyle.

The fact is nothing comes; at least nothing good. All has to be fetched.—Charles Buxton.

Genius begins great works, labor alone finishes them.—Joubert.

As steady application to work is the healthiest training for every individual, so is it the best discipline of a state. Honorable industry always travels the same road with enjoyment and duty, and progress is altogether impossible without it.—Samuel Smiles.

Nature is just towards men. It recompenses them for their sufferings; it renders them laborious, because to the greatest toils it attaches the greatest rewards.—Montesquieu.

Virtue's guard is Labor, ease her sleep.—Tasso.

Alexander the Great, reflecting on his friends degenerating into sloth and luxury, told them that it was a most slavish thing to luxuriate, and a most royal thing to labor.—Barrow.

Many young painters would never have taken their pencils in hand if they could have felt, known, and understood, early enough, what really produced a master like Raphael.—Goethe.

He that thinks that diversion may not lie in hard labor forgets the early rising and hard riding of huntsmen.—Locke.

The pain of life but sweetens death; the hardest labor brings the soundest sleep.—Albert Smith.

What men want is not talent, it is purpose; not the power to achieve, but the will to labor.—Bulwer-Lytton.

The true epic of our times is not "arms and the man," but "tools and the man," an infinitely wider kind of epic.—Carlyle.

Labor is the curse of the world, and nobody can meddle with it without becoming proportionably brutified!—Hawthorne.

Land.—There is a distinct joy in owning land, unlike that which you have in money, in houses, in books, pictures, or anything else which men have devised. Personal property brings you into society with men. But land is a part of God's estate in the globe; and when a parcel of ground is deeded to you, and you walk over it, and call it your own, it seems as if you had come into partnership with the original Proprietor of the earth.—Beecher.

Language.—The Creator has gifted the whole universe with language, but few are the hearts that can interpret it. Happy those to whom it is no foreign tongue, acquired imperfectly with care and pain, but rather a native language, learned unconsciously from the lips of the great mother.—Bulwer-Lytton.

The key to the sciences.—Bruyere.

A countryman is as warm in fustian as a king in velvet, and a truth is as comfortable in homely language as in fine speech. As to the way of dishing up the meat, hungry men leave that to the cook, only let the meat be sweet and substantial.—Spurgeon.

The machine of the poet.—Macaulay.

Poetry, indeed, cannot be translated; and, therefore, it is the poets that preserve the languages; for we would not be at the trouble to learn a language if we could have all that is written in it just as well in a translation. But as the beauties of poetry cannot be preserved in any language except that in which it was originally written, we learn the language.—Johnson.

Language most shows a man; speak that I may see thee: it springs out of the most retired and inmost part of us.—Ben Jonson.

If the way in which men express their thoughts is slipshod and mean, it will be very difficult for their thoughts themselves to escape being the same. If it is high flown and bombastic, a character for national simplicity and thankfulness cannot long be maintained.—Dean Alford.

Laughter.—Conversation never sits easier than when we now and then discharge ourselves in a symphony of laughter; which may not improperly be called the chorus of conversation.—Steele.

The laughers are a majority.—Pope.

Learn from the earliest days to inure your principles against the perils of ridicule: you can no more exercise your reason, if you live in the constant dread of laughter, than you can enjoy your life if you are in the constant terror of death.—Sydney Smith.

How much lies in laughter: the cipher key, wherewith we decipher the whole man!—Carlyle.

God made both tears and laughter, and both for kind purposes; for as laughter enables mirth and surprise to breathe freely, so tears enable sorrow to vent itself patiently. Tears hinder sorrow from becoming despair and madness.—Leigh Hunt.

How inevitably does an immoderate laughter end in a sigh!—South.

Laughing, if loud, ends in a deep sigh; and all pleasures have a sting in the tail, though they carry beauty on the face.—Jeremy Taylor.

Laughter means sympathy.—Carlyle.

One good, hearty laugh is a bombshell exploding in the right place, while spleen and discontent are a gun that kicks over the man who shoots it off.—De Witt Talmage.

I am sure that since I had the use of my reason, no human being has ever heard me laugh.—Chesterfield.

I like the laughter that opens the lips and the heart, that shower at the same time pearls and the soul.—Victor Hugo.

Laughter is a most healthful exertion; it is one of the greatest helps to digestion with which I am acquainted; and the custom prevalent among our forefathers, of exciting it at table by jesters and buffoons, was founded on true medical principles.—Dr. Hufeland.

Law.—With us, law is nothing unless close behind it stands a warm, living public opinion. Let that die or grow indifferent, and statutes are waste paper, lacking all executive force.—Wendell Phillips.

Of all the parts of a law, the most effectual is the vindicatory; for it is but lost labor to say, "Do this, or avoid that," unless we also declare, "This shall be the consequence of your non-compliance." The main strength and force of a law consists in the penalty annexed to it.—Blackstone.

If there be any one principle more widely than another confessed by every utterance, or more sternly than another imprinted on every atom of the visible creation, that principle is not liberty, but law.—Ruskin.

It would be very singular if this great shad-net of the law did not enable men to catch at something, balking for the time the eternal flood-tide of justice.—Chapin.

True law is right reason conformably to nature, universal, unchangeable, eternal, whose commands urge us to duty, and whose prohibitions restrain us from evil.—Cicero.

Aristotle himself has said, speaking of the laws of his own country, that jurisprudence, or the knowledge of those laws, is the principal and most perfect branch of ethics.—Blackstone.

In effect, to follow, not to force, the public inclination, to give a direction, a form, a technical dress, and a specific sanction, to the general sense of the community, is the true end of legislation.—Burke.

In the habits of legal men every accusation appears insufficient if they do not exaggerate it even to calumny. It is thus that justice itself loses its sanctity and its respect amongst men.—Lamartine.

Pity is the virtue of the law, and none but tyrants use it cruelly.—Shakespeare.

It is a very easy thing to devise good laws; the difficulty is to make them effective. The great mistake is that of looking upon men as virtuous, or thinking that they can be made so by laws; and consequently the greatest art of a politician is to render vices serviceable to the cause of virtue.—Bolingbroke.

A mouse-trap; easy to enter but not easy to get out of.—Mrs Balfour.

What can idle laws do with morals?—Horace.

The law is a gun, which if it misses a pigeon always kills a crow; if it does not strike the guilty it hits some one else. As every crime creates a law, so in turn every law creates a crime.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Learning.—It adds a precious seeing to the eye.—Shakespeare.

You are to consider that learning is of great use to society; and though it may not add to the stock, it is a necessary vehicle to transmit it to others. Learned men are the cisterns of knowledge, not the fountain-heads.—James Northcote.

Learning makes a man fit company for himself.—Young.

Learning maketh young men temperate, is the comfort of old age, standing for wealth with poverty, and serving as an ornament to riches.—Cicero.

The chief art of learning, as Locke has observed, is to attempt but little at a time. The widest excursions of the mind are made by short flights frequently repeated; the most lofty fabrics of science are formed by the continued accumulation of single propositions.—Johnson.

No man can ever want this mortification of his vanity, that what he knows is but a very little, in comparison of what he still continues ignorant of. Consider this, and, instead of boasting thy knowledge of a few things, confess and be out of countenance for the many more which thou dost not understand.—Thomas a Kempis.

Suppose we put a tax upon learning? Learning, it is true, is a useless commodity, but I think we had better lay it on ignorance; for learning being the property but of a very few, and those poor ones too, I am afraid we can get little among them; whereas ignorance will take in most of the great fortunes in the kingdom.—Fielding.

For ignorance of all things is an evil neither terrible nor excessive, nor yet the greatest of all; but great cleverness and much learning, if they be accompanied by a bad training is a much greater misfortune.—Plato.

No power can exterminate the seeds of liberty when it has germinated in the blood of brave men. Our religion of to-day is still that of martyrdom; to-morrow it will be the religion of victory.—Mazzini.

Leisure.—"Never less idle than when idle," was the motto which the admirable Vittoria Colonna wrought upon her husband's dressing-gown. And may we not justly regard our appreciation of leisure as a test of improved character and growing resources?—Tuckerman.

Leisure is gone; gone where the spinning-wheels are gone, and the pack-horses, and the slow wagons, and the peddlers who brought bargains to the door on sunny afternoons.—George Eliot.

Libels.—Undoubtedly the good fame of every man ought to be under the protection of the laws, as well as his life and liberty and property. Good fame is an outwork that defends them all and renders them all valuable. The law forbids you to revenge; when it ties up the hands of some, it ought to restrain the tongues of others.—Burke.

If it was a new thing, it may be I should not be displeased with the suppression of the first libel that should abuse me; but, since there are enough of them to make a small library, I am secretly pleased to see the number increased, and take delight in raising a heap of stones that envy has cast at me without doing me any harm.—Balzac.

Liberty.—Liberty is the right to do what the laws allow; and if a citizen could do what they forbid, it would be no longer liberty, because others would have the same powers.—Montesquieu.

If the true spark of religious and civil liberty be kindled, it will burn. Human agency cannot extinguish it. Like the earth's central fire, it may be smothered for a time; the ocean may overwhelm it; mountains may press it down; but its inherent and unconquerable force will heave both the ocean and the land, and at some time or another, in some place or another, the volcano will break out and flame to heaven.—Daniel Webster.

Interwoven is the love of liberty with every ligament of the heart.—Washington.

Library.—A large library is apt to distract rather than to instruct the learner; it is much better to be confined to a few authors than to wander at random over many.—Seneca.

He has his Rome, his Florence, his whole glowing Italy, within the four walls of his library. He has in his books the ruins of an antique world, and the glories of a modern one.—Longfellow.

What a place to be in is an old library! It seems as though all the souls of all the writers that have bequeathed their labors to these Bodleians were reposing here, as in some dormitory, or middle state. I do not want to handle, to profane the leaves, their winding-sheets. I could as soon dislodge a shade. I seem to inhale learning, walking amid their foliage; and the odor of their old moth-scented coverings is fragrant as the first bloom of those sciential apples which grew amid the happy orchard.—Lamb.

Life.—Life is a quaint puzzle. Bits the most incongruous join into each other, and the scheme thus gradually becomes symmetrical and clear; when, lo! as the infant clasps his hands, and cries, "See, see! the puzzle is made out," all the pieces are swept back into the box—black box with the gilded nails!—Bulwer-Lytton.

We never live, but we ever hope to live.—Pascal.

Life is like a beautiful and winding lane, on either side bright flowers, and beautiful butterflies, and tempting fruits, which we scarcely pause to admire and to taste, so eager are we to hasten to an opening which we imagine will be more beautiful still. But by degrees as we advance, the trees grow bleak; the flowers and butterflies fail, the fruits disappear, and we find we have arrived—to reach a desert waste.—G. A. Sala.

How small a portion of our life it is that we really enjoy! In youth we are looking forward to things that are to come; in old age we are looking backwards to things that are gone past; in manhood, although we appear indeed to be more occupied in things that are present, yet even that is too often absorbed in vague determinations to be vastly happy on some future day when we have time.—Colton.

The days of our years are three-score years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be four-score years, yet is their strength labor and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.—Bible.

When I reflect upon what I have seen, what I have heard, what I have done, I can hardly persuade myself that all that frivolous hurry and bustle and pleasure of the world had any reality; and I look on what has passed as one of those wild dreams which opium occasions, and I by no means wish to repeat the nauseous dose for the sake of the fugitive illusion.—Chesterfield.

Life is like a game of whist. I don't enjoy the game much, but I like to play my cards well, and see what will be the end of it.—George Eliot.

He most lives who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best; and he whose heart beats the quickest lives the longest.—James Martineau.

Life is so complicated a game that the devices of skill are liable to be defeated at every turn by air-blown chances, incalculable as the descent of thistledown.—George Eliot.

When we embark in the dangerous ship called Life, we must not, like Ulysses, be tied to the mast; we must know how to listen to the songs of the sirens and to brave their blandishments.—Arsene Houssaye.

Life is thick sown with thorns, and I know no other remedy than to pass quickly through them. The longer we dwell on our misfortunes the greater is their power to harm us.—Voltaire.

The earnestness of life is the only passport to the satisfaction of life.—Theodore Parker.

I am convinced that there is no man that knows life well, and remembers all the incidents of his past existence, who would accept it again; we are certainly here to punish precedent sins.—Campbell.

The childhood of immortality.—Goethe.

So our lives glide on; the river ends we don't know where, and the sea begins, and then there is no more jumping ashore.—George Eliot.

We never think of the main business of life till a vain repentance minds us of it at the wrong end.—L'Estrange.

This tide of man's life after it once turneth and declineth ever runneth with a perpetual ebb and falling stream, but never floweth again.—Sir W. Raleigh.

If the first death be the mistress of mortals, and the mistress of the universe, reflect then on the brevity of life. "I have been, and that is all," said Saladin the Great, who was conqueror of the East. The longest liver had but a handful of days, and life itself is but a circle, always beginning where it ends.—Henry Mayhew.

Why all this toil for the triumphs of an hour?—Young.

The cradle and the tomb, alas! so nigh.—Prior.

Life's short summer—man is but a flower.—Johnson.

Man lives only to shiver and perspire.—Sydney Smith.

O frail estate of human things!—Dryden.

Many think themselves to be truly God-fearing when they call this world a valley of tears. But I believe they would be more so, if they called it a happy valley. God is more pleased with those who think everything right in the world, than with those who think nothing right. With so many thousand joys, is it not black ingratitude to call the world a place of sorrow and torment?—Richter.

Life is a progress from want to want, not from enjoyment to enjoyment.—Johnson.

We never live: we are always in the expectation of living.—Voltaire.

Life does not count by years. Some suffer a lifetime in a day, and so grow old between the rising and the setting of the sun.—Augusta Evans.

Light.—Science and art may invent splendid modes of illuminating the apartments of the opulent; but these are all poor and worthless compared with the light which the sun sends into our windows, which he pours freely, impartially, over hill and valley, which kindles daily the eastern and western sky; and so the common lights of reason and conscience and love are of more worth and dignity than the rare endowments which give celebrity to a few.—Dr. Channing.

More light!—Goethe's last words.

Light! Nature's resplendent robe; without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt in gloom.—Thomson.

Hail! holy light, offspring of heaven, first born!—Milton.

We should render thanks to God for having produced this temporal light, which is the smile of heaven and joy of the world, spreading it like a cloth of gold over the face of the air and earth, and lighting it as a torch, by which we might behold his works.—Caussin.

Likeness.—Like, but oh, how different!—Wordsworth.

Lips.—Lips like rosebuds peeping out of snow.—Bailey.

He kissed me hard, as though he'd pluck up kisses by the roots that grew upon my lips.—Shakespeare.

The lips of a fool swallow up himself.—Bible.

Literature.—Literature happens to be the only occupation in which wages are not given in proportion to the goodness of the work done.—Froude.

The literature of a people must spring from the sense of its nationality; and nationality is impossible without self-respect, and self-respect is impossible without liberty.—Mrs. Stowe.

Cleverness is a sort of genius for instrumentality. It is the brain of the hand. In literature, cleverness is more frequently accompanied by wit, genius, and sense, than by humor.—Coleridge.

When literature is the sole business of life, it becomes a drudgery. When we are able to resort to it only at certain hours, it is a charming relaxation. In my earlier days I was a banker's clerk, obliged to be at the desk everyday from ten till five o'clock; and I shall never forget the delight with which, on returning home, I used to read and write during the evening.—Rogers.

Literary history is the great morgue where all seek the dead ones whom they love, or to whom they are related.—Heinrich Heine.

Whatever the skill of any country be in sciences, it is from excellence in polite learning alone that it must expect a character from posterity.—Goldsmith.

Logic.—Logic differeth from rhetoric as the fist from the palm; the one close, the other at large.—Bacon.

Syllogism is of necessary use, even to the lovers of truth, to show them the fallacies that are often concealed in florid, witty, or involved discourses.—Locke.

Logic is the art of convincing us of some truth.—Bruyere.

Love.—Fie, fie! how wayward is this foolish love, that, like a testy babe, will scratch the nurse, and presently, all humbled, will kiss the rod!—Shakespeare.

Love is the cross and passion of the heart; its end, its errand.—P. L. Bailey.

Love is frightened at the intervals of insensibility and callousness that encroach by little and little on the dominion of grief, and it makes efforts to recall the keenness of the first anguish.—George Eliot.

Love while 't is day; night cometh soon, wherein no man or maiden may.—Joaquin Miller.

Love has a way of cheating itself consciously, like a child who plays at solitary hide-and-seek; it is pleased with assurances that it all the while disbelieves.—George Eliot.

As soon go kindle fire with snow, as seek to quench the fire of love with words.—Shakespeare.

Loves change sure as man or moon, and wane like warm full days of June.—Joaquin Miller.

Take of love as a sober man takes wine; do not get drunk.—Alfred de Musset.

Love is the admiration and cherishing of the amiable qualities of the beloved person, upon the condition of yourself being the object of their action. The qualities of the sexes correspond. The man's courage is loved by the woman, whose fortitude again is coveted by the man. His vigorous intellect is answered by her infallible tact. Can it be true, what is so constantly affirmed, that there is no sex in souls? I doubt it—I doubt it exceedingly.—Coleridge.

As love increases prudence diminishes.—Rochefoucauld.

Never self-possessed, or prudent, love is all abandonment.—Emerson.

The desire to be beloved is ever restless and unsatisfied; but the love that flows out upon others is a perpetual well-spring from on high.—L. M. Child.

Love is love's reward.—Dryden.

The violence of love is as much to be dreaded as that of hate. When it is durable, it is serene and equable. Even its famous pains begin only with the ebb of love, for few are indeed lovers, though all would fain be.—Thoreau.

Love makes all things possible.—Shakespeare.

Economy in love is peace to nature, much like economy in worldly matters; we should be prudent, never love too fast; profusion will not, cannot, always last.—Peter Pindar. (John W. Wolcott.)

There is no fear in love, for perfect love casteth out fear.—Bible.

O love! thy essence is thy purity! Breathe one unhallowed breath upon thy flame and it is gone for ever, and but leaves a sullied vase,—its pure light lost in shame.—Landor.

The pale complexion of true love.—Shakespeare.

Love has no middle term; it either saves or destroys.—Victor Hugo.

Young love is a flame; very pretty, often very hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. The love of the older and disciplined heart is as coals, deep-burning, unquenchable.—Beecher.

In love's war, he who flies is conqueror.—Mrs. Osgood.

Where there is room in the heart there is always room in the house.—Moore.

Love's like the measles, all the worse when it comes late in life.—Douglas Jerrold.

Only they conquer love who run away.—Carew.

The heart's hushed secret in the soft dark eye.—L. E. Landon.

Love, well thou know'st, no partnership allows; cupid averse rejects divided vows.—Prior.

Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue.—Milton.

Those who yield their souls captive to the brief intoxication of love, if no higher and holier feeling mingle with and consecrate their dream of bliss, will shrink trembling from the pangs that attend their waking.—Schlegel.

The first sigh of love is the last of wisdom.—Antoine Bret.

I have enjoyed the happiness of this world, I have lived and have loved.—Richter.

Life is a flower of which love is the honey.—Victor Hugo.

Love is a severe critic. Hate can pardon more than love.—Thoreau.

Young love-making, that gossamer web! Even the points it clings to—the things whence its subtle interlacings are swung—are scarcely perceptible: momentary touches of finger-tips, meetings of rays from blue and dark orbs, unfinished phrases, lightest changes of cheek and lip, faintest tremors. The web itself is made of spontaneous beliefs and indefinable joys, yearnings of one life towards another, visions of completeness, indefinite trust.—George Eliot.

Love is the loadstone of love.—Mrs. Osgood.

Love is never lasting which flames before it burns.—Feltham.

The best part of woman's love is worship; but it is hard to her to be sent away with her precious spikenard rejected, and her long tresses, too, that were let fall ready to soothe the wearied feet.—George Eliot.

Love is an Oriental despot.—Madame Swetchine.

We must love as looking one day to hate.—George Herbert.

Love with old men is as the sun upon the snow, it dazzles more than it warms them.—J. Petit Senn.

Love is lowliness; on the wedding ring sparkles no jewel.—Richter.

Love alone is wisdom, love alone is power; and where love seems to fail, it is where self has stepped between and dulled the potency of its rays.—George MacDonald.

To speak of love is to make love.—Balzac.

A man may be a miser of his wealth; he may tie up his talent in a napkin; he may hug himself in his reputation; but he is always generous in his love. Love cannot stay at home; a man cannot keep it to himself. Like light, it is constantly traveling. A man must spend it, must give it away.—Macleod.

Repining love is the stillest; the shady flowers in this spring as in the other, shun sunlight.—Richter.

Love is like the moon; when it does not increase it decreases.—Segur.

Love is the most terrible, and also the most generous of the passions: it is the only one that includes in its dreams the happiness of some one else.—Alphonse Karr.

A woman whom we truly love is a religion.—Emile de Girardin.

Childhood is only a wearisome prologue: the first act of the human comedy opens only at the moment when love makes a breach in our hearts.—Arsene Houssaye.

The religion of humanity is love.—Mazzini.

He who is intoxicated with wine will be sober again in the course of the night, but he who is intoxicated by the cup-bearer will not recover his senses until the day of judgment.—Saadi.

Love reasons without reason.—Shakespeare.

It seems to me that the coming of love is like the coming of spring—the date is not to be reckoned by the calendar. It may be slow and gradual; it may be quick and sudden. But in the morning, when we wake and recognize a change in the world without, verdure on the trees, blossoms on the sward, warmth in the sunshine, music in the air, we say spring has come.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Love and a cough cannot be hid.—George Herbert.

Love is the most dunder-headed of all the passions; it never will listen to reason. The very rudiments of logic are unknown to it. "Love has no wherefore," says one of the Latin poets.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Love in marriage should be the accomplishment of a beautiful dream, and not, as it too often is, the end.—Alphonse Karr.

One dies twice: to cease to live is nothing, but to cease to love and to be loved is an insupportable death.—Voltaire.

The heart of a woman is never so full of affection that there does not remain a little corner for flattery and love.—Mauvaux.

Love is always blind and tears his hands whenever he tries to gather roses.—Arsene Houssaye.

Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination.—Voltaire.

Oh! I was mad to intoxicate myself with the wine of love, and to extend my hand to the crown of poets. Pleasure! Poetry! you are perfidious friends. Pain follows you closely.—Arsene Houssaye.

If love gives wit to fools, it undoubtedly takes it from wits.—Alphonse Karr.

In love, as in everything else, experience is a physician who never comes until after the disorder is cured.—Mme. de la Tour.

One expresses well only the love he does not feel.—Alphonse Karr.

In love, as in war, a fortress that parleys is half taken.—Marguerite de Valois.

A supreme love, a motive that gives a sublime rhythm to a woman's life, and exalts habit into partnership with the soul's highest needs, is not to be had where and how she wills: to know that high initiation, she must often tread where it is hard to tread, and feel the chill air, and watch through darkness.—George Eliot.

To love one who loves you, to admire one who admires you, in a word, to be the idol of one's idol, is exceeding the limit of human joy; it is stealing fire from heaven and deserves death.—Madame de Girardin.

But to enlarge or illustrate this power and effects of love is to set a candle in the sun.—Burton.

There are as many kinds of love as there are races. A great tall German, learned, virtuous, phlegmatic, said one day: "Souls are sisters, fallen from heaven, who all at once recognize and run to meet each other." A little dry Frenchman, hot-blooded, witty, lively, replied to him: "You are right; you can always find shoes to fit."—Taine.

Love supreme defies all sophistry.—George Eliot.

It is strange that men will talk of miracles, revelations, inspiration, and the like, as things past, while love remains.—Thoreau.

The love of man to woman is a thing common, and of course, and at first partakes more of instinct and passion than of choice; but true friendship between man and man is infinite and immortal.—Plato.

We look at the one little woman's face we love, as we look at the face of our mother earth, and see all sorts of answers to our own yearnings.—George Eliot.

Take away love, and not physical nature only, but the heart of the moral world would be palsied.—Southey.

Among all the many kinds of first love, that which begins in childish companionship is the strongest and most enduring; when passion comes to unite its force to long affection, love is at its spring-tide.—George Eliot.

Nothing quickens the perceptions like genuine love. From the humblest professional attachment to the most chivalric devotion, what keenness of observation is born under the influence of that feeling which drives away the obscuring clouds of selfishness, as the sun consumes the vapor of the morning.—Tuckerman.

Luck.—Hope nothing from luck, and the probability is that you will be so prepared, forewarned, and forearmed, that all shallow observers will call you lucky.—Bulwer-Lytton.

Luxury.—Whenever vanity and gayety, a love of pomp and dress, furniture, equipage, buildings, great company, expensive diversions, and elegant entertainments get the better of the principles and judgments of men and women, there is no knowing where they will stop, nor into what evils, natural, moral, or political, they will lead us.—John Adams.

He repents on thorns that sleeps in beds of roses.—Quarles.

O brethren, it is sickening work to think of your cushioned seats, your chants, your anthems, your choirs, your organs, your gowns, and your bands, and I know not what besides, all made to be instruments of religious luxury, if not of pious dissipation, while ye need far more to be stirred up and incited to holy ardor for the propagation of the truth as it is in Jesus.—Spurgeon.

O Luxury! Thou curst of heaven's decree.—Goldsmith.

Superfluity comes sooner by white hairs, but competency lives longer.—Shakespeare.

Lying.—Lying's a certain mark of cowardice.—Southern.

There are people who lie simply for the sake of lying.—Pascal.

Every brave man shuns more than death the shame of lying.—Corneille.

It is a hard matter for a man to lie all over, nature having provided king's evidence in almost every member. The hand will sometimes act as a vane, to show which way the wind blows, even when every feature is set the other way; the knees smite together and sound the alarm of fear under a fierce countenance; the legs shake with anger, when all above is calm.—Washington Allston.

Lies exist only to be extinguished.—Carlyle.

A lie that is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.—Tennyson.

M.

Madness.—Many a man is mad in certain instances, and goes through life without having it perceived. For example, a madness has seized a person of supposing himself obliged literally to pray continually; had the madness turned the opposite way, and the person thought it a crime ever to pray, it might not improbably have continued unobserved.—Johnson.

Man.—It is of dangerous consequence to represent to man how near he is to the level of beasts, without showing him at the same time his greatness. It is likewise dangerous to let him see his greatness without his meanness. It is more dangerous yet to leave him ignorant of either; but very beneficial that he should be made sensible of both.—Pascal.

Man, I tell you, is a vicious animal.—Moliere.

He is of the earth, but his thoughts are with the stars. Mean and petty his wants and his desires; yet they serve a soul exalted with grand, glorious aims,—with immortal longings,—with thoughts which sweep the heavens, and wander through eternity. A pigmy standing on the outward crest of this small planet, his far-reaching spirit stretches outward to the infinite, and there alone finds rest.—Carlyle.

Alas! what does man here below? A little noise in much obscurity.—Victor Hugo.

What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and movement, how express and admirable! in action, how like an angel! in apprehension, how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!—Shakespeare.

Every man is a divinity in disguise, a god playing the fool. It seems as if heaven had sent its insane angels into our world as to an asylum. And here they will break out into their native music, and utter at intervals the words they have heard in heaven; then the mad fit returns, and they mope and wallow like dogs!—Emerson.

In my youth I thought of writing a satire on mankind; but now in my age I think I should write an apology for them.—Walpole.

Man is a reasoning rather than a reasonable animal.—Alexander Hamilton.

I considered how little man is, yet, in his own mind, how great! He is lord and master of all things, yet scarce can command anything. He is given a freedom of his will; but wherefore? Was it but to torment and perplex him the more? How little avails this freedom, if the objects he is to act upon be not as much disposed to obey as he is to command!—Burke.

Men's natures are neither white nor black, but brown.—Charles Buxton.

He is compounded of two very different ingredients, spirit and matter; but how such unallied and disproportioned substances should act upon each other, no man's learning yet could tell him.—Jeremy Collier.

Man is the highest product of his own history. The discoverer finds nothing so grand or tall as himself, nothing so valuable to him. The greatest star is at the small end of the telescope, the star that is looking, not looked after nor looked at.—Theodore Parker.

Men are but children of a larger growth; our appetites are apt to change as theirs, and full as craving, too, and full as vain.—Dryden.

Little things are great to little men.—Goldsmith.

Man himself is the crowning wonder of creation; the study of his nature the noblest study the world affords.—Gladstone.

Limited in his nature, infinite in his desires.—Lamartine.

Manners.—A man ought to carry himself in the world as an orange tree would if it could walk up and down in the garden, swinging perfume from every little censer it holds up to the air.—Beecher.

All manners take a tincture from our own.—Pope.

I have seen manners that make a similar impression with personal beauty, that give the like exhilaration and refine us like that; and in memorable experiences they are suddenly better than beauty, and make that superfluous and ugly. But they must be marked by fine perception, the acquaintance with real beauty. They must always show control; you shall not be facile, apologetic, or leaky, but king over your word; and every gesture and action shall indicate power at rest. They must be inspired by the good heart. There is no beautifier of complexion, or form, or behavior, like the wish to scatter joy, and not pain, around us.—Emerson.