The great sins and fires break out of me like the terrible leaves from the bough in the violent spring. I am a walking fire, I am all leaves.

My temper is not spoilt. I am absolutely non-homicidal. Nor do I ever attack unless I have been attacked first, and then Heaven have mercy upon the attacker, because I don't! I just sharpen my wits on a wooden head as a cat sharpens its claws on the wood legs of a table.

I am one of those unhappy persons who inspire bores to the greatest flights of art.

[History is] that terrible mill in which sawdust rejoins sawdust.

... all ugliness passes, and beauty endures, excepting of the skin.

What the reporters are like! They are mad with excitement at the thought of my approaching demise. Kind Sister Farquhar, my nurse, spends much of her time in throwing them downstairs. But one got in the other day, and asked me if I mind the fact that I must die.

The aim of flattery is to soothe and encourage us by assuring us of the truth of an opinion we have already formed about ourselves.