There is one order of beauty which seems made to turn heads. It is a beauty like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks making gentle rippling noises with their soft bills, or babies just beginning to toddle.

To the old, sorrow is sorrow; to the young, it is despair.

The select natures who pant after the ideal, and find nothing in pantaloons or petticoats great enough to command their reverence and love, are curiously in unison with the narrowest and pettiest.

The human soul is hospitable, and will entertain conflicting sentiments and contradictory opinions with much impartiality.

An ass may bray a good while before he shakes the stars down.

Genius is the capacity for receiving and improving by discipline.

But most of us are apt to settle within ourselves that the man who blocks our way is odious, and not to mind causing him a little of the disgust which his personality excites in ourselves.