Youth, what a pity to waste it on the young.

We live in an atmosphere of shame. We are ashamed of everything that is real about us; ashamed of ourselves, of our relatives, of our incomes, of our accents, of our opinions, of our experience, just as we are ashamed of our naked skins.

I showed my appreciation of my native land in the usual Irish way: by getting out of it as soon as I possibly could.

Those who minister to poverty and disease are accomplices in the two worst of all the crimes.

In an article on Bunyan lately published in the "Contemporary Review" - the only article on the subject worth reading on the subject I ever saw (yes, thank you, I am familiar with Macaulay's patronizing prattle about "The Pilgrim's Progress") etc.

One man that has a mind and knows it can always beat ten men who haven't and don't.

To a mathematician the eleventh means only a single unit: to the bushman who cannot count further than his ten fingers it is an incalculable myriad.