Such is the nature of novelty that where anything pleases it becomes doubly agreeable if new; but if it displeases, it is doubly displeasing on that very account.
Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: “It might have been!”
Never burn your fingers to snuff another’s candle.
From a fallen tree, make kindling.
If, of all words of tongue or pen, The saddest are, ‘It might have been,’ More sad are these we daily see; ‘It is, but hadn’t ought to be!’
I ran away twice; once at about 13, and once at 17. There is not much satisfaction in it, even as a recollection. It was a couple of disappointments, particularly the first one. The heroics squish out of such things so promptly.
The mountains will be in labor, and a ridiculous mouse will be born.
It is generally known, that he who expects much will be often disappointed; yet disappointment seldom cures us of expectation, or has any effect other than that of producing a moral sentence or peevish exclamation.
How disappointment tracks the steps of hope.
Should a single disappointed hope make us so hostile towards the world?