Sydney Smith (1771 – 1845)
English clergyman, critic, philosopher and wit.
No furniture so charming as books.
You remember Thurlow's answer to some one complaining of the injustice of a company. "Why, you never expected justice from a company, did you? they have neither a soul to lose, nor a body to kick."
Marriage resembles a pair of shears, so joined that they can not be separated; often moving in opposite directions, yet always punishing anyone who comes between them.
Correspondences are like small clothes before the invention of suspenders; it is impossible to keep them up.
Madam, I have been looking for a person who disliked gravy all my life; let us swear eternal friendship.
Praise is the best diet for us, after all.
Not body enough to cover his mind decently with; his intellect is improperly exposed.
He was a one-book man. Some men have only one book in them; others, a library.
Among the smaller duties of life I hardly know any one more important than that of not praising where praise is not due.
Life is to be fortified by many friendships. To love, and to be loved, is the greatest happiness of existence.
Thank God for tea! What would the world do without tea?—how did it exist? I am glad I was not born before tea.
A great deal of talent is lost to the world for the want of a little courage. Every day sends to their graves a number of obscure men who have only remained obscure because their timidity has prevented them from making a first effort.
Serenely full, the epicure would say,
Fate cannot harm me, I have dined today.
It is the safest to be moderately base — to be flexible in shame, and to be always ready for what is generous, good, and just, when anything is to be gained by virtue.
No man can ever end with being superior, who will not begin with being inferior.
As the French say, there are three sexes, — men, women, and clergymen.
Live always in the best company when you read.
Magnificent spectacle of human happiness.
Great men hallow a whole people and lift up all who live in their time.
My living in Yorkshire was so far out of the way, that it was actually twelve miles from a lemon.