Blessed are the pure in heart for they have so many more things to talk about.

What's the use of making mysteries? It only makes people want to nose 'em out.

We live in our own souls as in an unmapped region, a few acres of which we have cleared for our habitation; while of the nature of those nearest us we know but the boundaries that march with ours.

My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet.

Something he knew he had missed: the flower of life. But he thought of it now as a thing so unattainable and improbable that to have repined would have been like despairing because one had not drawn the first prize in a lottery.

In our hurried world too little value is attached to the part of the connoisseur and dilettante.

The air of ideas is the only air worth breathing.