A dead grief is easier to bear than a live trouble.

A real dog, beloved and therefore pampered by his mistress, is a lamentable spectacle. He suffers from fatty degeneration of his moral being.

We are tethered to our kind, and may as well join hands in the struggle.

In those happy days when leisure was held to be no sin, men and women wrote journals whose copiousness both delights and dismays us.

real letter-writing ... is founded on a need as old and as young as humanity itself, the need that one human being has of another.

It is unwise to feel too much if we think too little.

A puppy is but a dog, plus high spirits, and minus common sense.