Let us live for the beauty of our own reality.
Were I Diogenes, I would not move out of a kilderkin into a hogshead, though the first had had nothing but small beer in it, and the second reeked claret.
I am in love with the green earth.
Books think for me. I can read anything which I call a book.
The drinking man is never less himself than during his sober intervals.
If there be a regal solitude, it is a sick-bed. How the patient lords it there!