We have a strange illusion that mere time cancels sin.

Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another: "What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . ."

There are no ordinary people.. it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit.

Affection is responsible for nine-tenths of whatever solid and durable happiness there is in our lives.

Vanity is really the least bad and most pardonable sort. The vain person wants praise, applause, admiration too much and is always angling for it. It is a fault, but a childlike and even (in an odd way) a humble fault. It shows that you are not yet completely contented with your own admiration. You value other people enough to want them to look at you. You are in fact still human.

God is the food our spirits were designed to feed on.

I do not doubt that if the Paradisal man could now appear among us, we should regard him as an utter savage, a creature to be exploited or, at best, patronised. Only one or two, and those the holiest among us, would glance a second time at the naked, shaggy-bearded, slow spoken creature: but they, after a few minutes, would fall at his feet.