I sold flowers. I didn't sell myself. Now you've made a lady of me I'm not fit to sell anything else.

You are going to let the fear of poverty govern you life and your reward will be that you will eat, but you will not live.

The heart of an Irishman is nothing but his imagination

In the arts of life main invents nothing; but in the arts of death he outdoes Nature herself, and produces by chemistry and machinery all the slaughter of plague, pestilence and famine. ... There is nothing in Man's industrial machinery but his greed and sloth: his heart is in his weapons.

People get tired of everything, and of nothing sooner than of what they most like.

The world is populated in the main by people who should not exist

An idea that no one believes can not be proved too often.