We have but the memories of past good cheer, we have but the echoes of departed laughter. In vain we look and listen for the mirth that has died away. In vain we seek to question the gray ghosts of old-time revelers.

It has been wisely said that we cannot really love anybody at whom we never laugh.

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

For my part, the good novel of character is the novel I can always pick up; but the good novel of incident is the novel I can never lay down.

Humor brings insight and tolerance.

When the milk of human kindness turns sour, it is a singularly unpalatable draught.

The necessity of knowing a little about a great many things is the most grievous burden of our day. It deprives us of leisure on the one hand, and of scholarship on the other.