Memory has the singular characteristic of recalling in a friend absent, as in a journey long past, only that which is agreeable.

A well known American writer said once that, while everybody talked about the weather, nobody seemed to do anything about it.

It is difficult to be emphatic when no one is emphatic on the other side.

Memory has the singular characteristic of recalling in a friend absent, as in a journey long past, only that which is agreeable.

Nothing shows one who his friends are like prosperity and ripe fruit.

Lettuce is like conversation; it must be fresh and crisp, so sparkling that you scarcely notice the bitter in it.

The love of dirt is among the earliest of passions, as it is the latest. Mud-pies gratify one of our first and best instincts. So long as we are dirty, we are pure. Fondness for the ground comes back to a man after he has run the round of pleasure and business, eaten dirt, and sown wild oats, drifted about the world, and taken the wind of all its moods. The love of digging in the ground (or of looking on while he pays another to dig) is as sure to come back to him, as he is sure, at last, to go under the ground, and stay there.