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

Politics is a place of humble hopes and strangely modest requirements, where all are good who are not criminal and all are wise who are not ridiculously otherwise.

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

There ought to be some sign in a book about man, that the writer knows thoroughly one man at least.

As crowds increase we build our forts of inattention, and the more we talk the easier it is to mean little and listen not at all.

Persecution was at least a sign of personal interest.

Distaste sounds more emphatic when expressed as moral disapproval. With most of us the moral counterblast is nothing more than the angry rendering of a yawn.