Blessed be sleep! We are all young then; we are all happy. Then our dead are living.
A little oil makes machinery work easy.
I dare say you will try to make me believe that Editors are human. Now I deny that, for I myself have, in past days, had evidence to the contrary.
When a literary person's exhaustive work is over, the last thing he wishes to do is to talk books.
I am getting sick of people. I am falling in love with things. They hold their tongues.
Hotel life is about the same in every latitude.