Samuel Johnson

While grief is fresh, every attempt to divert only irritates. You must wait till grief be digested, and then amusement will dissipate the remains of it.

I look upon every day to be lost, in which I do not make a new acquaintance.

Lawyers know life practically. A bookish man should always have them to converse with.

Whoever wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse, and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of Addison.

Sir, he throws away his money without thought and without merit. I do not call a tree generous that sheds its fruit at every breeze.

It is very strange, and very melancholy, that the paucity of human pleasures should persuade us ever to call hunting one of them.

We are stripped bare by the curse of plenty.

She was not quite what you would call refined. She was not quite what you would call unrefined. She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot.

We have not lost faith, but we have transferred it from God to the medical profession.

Every man alone is sincere. At the entrance of a second person, hypocrisy begins.

It is more agreeable to have the power to give than to receive.

When one has tasted it Watermelon he knows what the angels eat.

Kindness, love, strength and determination personified!! Madiba reminds me that everything is possible!

The best effort of a fine person is felt after we have left their presence.

Culture is one thing and varnish is another.

To himself everyone is an immortal. He may know that he is going to die, but he can never know that he is dead.

I have lived eighty years of life and know nothing for it, but to be resigned and tell myself that flies are born to be eaten by spiders and man to be devoured by sorrow.

Blessed is the influence of one true, loving human soul on another.

It is better that some should be unhappy than that none should be happy, which would be the case in a general state of equality.

The mind is never satisfied with the objects immediately before it, but is always breaking away from the present moment, and losing itself in schemes of future felicity. The natural flights of the human mind are not from pleasure to pleasure, but from hope to hope.

Death is the king of this world: ‘Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.