In nothing more is the English genius for domesticity more notably declared than in the institution of this festival-almost one may call it-of afternoon tea...the mere chink of cups and saucers tunes the mind to happy repose.

Flippancy, the most hopeless form of intellectual vice.

For one thing, I know every book of mine by its scent.

To like Keats is a test of fitness for understanding poetry, just as to like Shakespeare is a test of general mental capacity.

It is the mind which creates the world around us, and even though we stand side by side in the same meadow, my eyes will never see what is beheld by yours, my heart will never stir to the emotions with which yours is touched.

To every man it is decreed: Thou shalt live alone. Happy they who imagine that they have escaped the common lot; happy, whilst they imagine it.

Parks are but pavement disguised with a growth of grass.