History repeats itself.

People are almost always better than their neighbors think they are.

Nature repairs her ravages, but not all. The uptorn trees are not rooted again; the parted hills are left scarred; if there is a new growth, the trees are not the same as the old, and the hills underneath their green vesture bear the marks of the past rending. To the eyes that have dwelt on the past, there is no thorough repair.

Sane people did what their neighbors did, so that if any lunatics were at large, one might know and avoid them.

The strength of the donkey mind lies in adopting a course inversely as the arguments urged, which, well considered, requires as great a mental force as the direct sequence.

I have nothing to tell except travellers' stories, which are always tiresome, like the description of a play which was very exciting to those who saw it.

... it is because sympathy is but a living again through our own past in a new form, that confession often prompts a response of confession.