We neither laugh alone, nor weep alone, why then should we pray alone?

Forgotten rimes, and college themes,/ Worm-eaten plans, and embryo schemes;/ A mass of heterogeneous matter./ A chaos dark, nor land nor water.

You speak of beginning the education of your son. The moment he was able to form an idea his education was already begun. . . .

The dead of midnight is the noon of thought.

It would be difficult to determine whether the age is growing better or worse; for I think our plays are growing like sermons, and our sermons like plays.

We can only love what we know