The New York playgoer is a child of nature, and he has an honest and wholesome regard of whatever is atrocious in art.

That is the consolation of a little mind; you have the fun of changing it without impeding the progress of mankind.

We do not mind our not arriving anywhere nearly so much as our not having any company on the way.

One learns little more about a man from the feats of his literary memory than from the feats of his alimentary canal.

Talk ought always to run obliquely, not nose to nose with no chance of mental escape.

In middle life politics are not a mental acquisition; they are a temperament.

I know of no more disagreeable sensation than to be left feeling generally angry without anybody in particular to be angry at.