How I like to be liked, and what I do to be liked!

Anything awful makes me laugh. I misbehaved once at a funeral.

Borrowers of books-those mutilators of collections, spoilers of the symmetry of shelves, and creators of odd volumes.

Nothing is to me more distasteful than that entire complacency and satisfaction which beam in the countenances of a new-married couple,-in that of the lady particularly; it tells you that her lot is disposed of in this world; that you can have no hopes of her.

Newspapers always excite curiosity. No one ever lays one down without a feeling of disappointment.

A presentation copy, reader,-if haply you are yet innocent of such favours-is a copy of a book which does not sell, sent you by the author.

A poor relation-is the most irrelevant thing in nature,-a piece of impertinent correspondency,-an odious approximation,-a haunting conscience,-a preposterous shadow, lengthening in the noontide of our prosperity.

I am Retired Leisure. I am to be met with in trim gardens. I am already come to be known by my vacant face and careless gesture, perambulating at no fixed pace nor with any settled purpose. I walk about; not to and from.

How convalescence shrinks a man back to his pristine stature! where is now the space, which he occupied so lately, in his own, in the family's eye?

How sickness enlarges the dimensions of a mans self to himself! he is his own exclusive object. Supreme selfishness is inculcated upon him as his only duty.