Every man's road in life is marked by the grave of his personal likings.

Nature never quite goes along with us. She is somber at weddings, sunny at funerals, and she frowns on ninety-nine out of a hundred picnics.

If the egotist is weak, his egotism is worthless. If the egotist is strong, acute, full of distinctive character, his egotism is precious, and remains a possession of the race.

One never hugs one's good luck so affectionately as when listening to the relation of some horrible misfortunes which has overtaken others.

If a man is worth knowing at all, he is worth knowing well.

Sweet April's tears, Dead on the hem of May.

The greatness of an artist or a writer does not depend on what he has in common with other artists and writers, but on what he has peculiar to himself.