The years between fifty and seventy are the hardest. You are always being asked to do things, and yet you are not decrepit enough to turn them down.

Perfect love has a breath of poetry which can exalt the relations of the least-instructed human beings.

If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.

Blows are sarcasms turned stupid.

"Abroad," that large home of ruined reputations.

The poverty of our imagination is no measure of say the world's resources. Our posterity will no doubt get fuel in ways that we are unable to devise for them.

Hear Everything and judge for yourself