We occasionally see something on the stage that reminds us a little of Shakespear. [Oct. 16, 1814, <i>The Champion</i>] - William Hazlitt

The art of conversation is the art of hearing as well as of being heard.

For my own part, as I once said, I like a friend the better for having faults that one can talk about.

If love at first sight were mutual, or to be conciliated by kind offices; if the fondest affection were not so often repaid and chilled by indifference and scorn; if so many lovers both before and since the madman in Don Quixote had not ‘worshipped a statue, hunted the wind, cried aloud to the desert’; if friendship were lasting; if merit were renown, and renown were health, riches, and long life; or if the homage of the world were paid to conscious worth and the true aspirations after excellence, instead of its gaudy signs and outward trappings, then indeed I might be of opinion that it is better to live to others than one’s self; but as the case stands, I incline to the negative side of the question.