the breed is more than the pasture. As you know, the cuckoo lays her eggs in any bird's nest; it may be hatched among blackbirds or robins or thrushes, but it is always a cuckoo. ... a man cannot deliver himself from his ancestors.

Old age is the verdict of life.

when we leave society and come into the presence of Nature, we become children again; and the fictions of thought and action assumed among men drop off like a garment.

... if fiction does not show us a better life than reality, what is the good of it?

Men can bear all things but good days.

We generally get the evil we expect.

It is little men know of women; their smiles and their tears alike are seldom what they seem.