No man pursues what he has at hand. No man recognizes the need of pursuit until that which he desires has escaped him.

Letter-writing on the part of a busy man or woman is the quintessence of generosity.

It is not depravity that afflicts the human race so much as a general lack of intelligence.

People with theories of life are, perhaps, the most relentless of their kind, for no time or place is sacred from their devastating elucidations.

Miserliness is the one vice that grows stronger with increasing years. It yields its sordid pleasures to the end.

Letters form a by-path of literature, a charming, but occasional, retreat for people of cultivated leisure.

People who pin their faith to a catchword never feel the necessity of understanding anything.