I am sure that if the mothers of various nations could meet, there would be no more wars.

You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you.

I think - I think - I think how little they think what lies so near them.

There was something better in life than this rub­bish, if only he could get to it—love—nobility—big spaces where passion clasped peace, spaces no science could reach, but they existed for ever, full of woods some of them, and arched with majestic sky and a friend. . .

It is my fate and perhaps my temperament to sign agreements with fools.

It is the vice of a vulgar mind to be thrilled by bigness, to think that a thousand square miles are a thousand times more wonderful than one square mile, and that a million square miles are almost the same as heaven.

One marvels why the middle classes still insist on so much discomfort for their children at such expense to themselves.