The only thing a man knows is himself.

How deeply seated in the human heart is the liking for gardens and gardening.

And in any case, to the old man, when the world becomes trite, the triteness arises not so much from a cessation as from a transference of interest. What is taken from this world is given to the next. The glory is in the east in the morning, it is in the west in the afternoon, and when it is dark the splendour is irradiating the realm of the under-world. He would only follow.

The discovery of a grey hair when you are brushing out your whiskers of a morning - first fallen flake of the coming snows of age - is a disagreeable thing.

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

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.

The spot of ground on which a man has stood is forever interesting to him.