Life is the only real counselor; wisdom unfiltered through personal experience does not become a part of the moral tissue.

I am secretly afraid of animals.... I think it is because of the usness in their eyes, with the underlying not-usness which beliesit, and is so tragic a reminder of the lost age when we human beings branched off and left them: left them to eternal inarticulateness and slavery. Why? their eyes seem to ask us.

And I wonder, among all the tangles of this mortal coil, which one contains tighter knots to undo, & consequently suggests more tugging, & pain, & diversified elements of misery, than the marriage tie.

Happiness is a work of art. Handle with care.

In the rotation of crops there was a recognized season for wild oats; but they were not sown more than once.

In all the arts abundance seems to be one of the surest signs of vocation.

The real loneliness is living among all these kind people who only ask one to pretend!