Money is made at Christmas out of holly and mistletoe, but who save the vendors would greatly care if no green branch were procurable?

A pipe for the hour of work; a cigarette for the hour of conception; a cigar for the hour of vacuity.

That is one of the bitter curses of poverty; it leaves no right to be generous.

Life, I fancy, would very often be insupportable, but for the luxury of self compassion.

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.

Honest winter, snow clad and with the frosted beard, I can welcome not uncordially; but that long deferment of the calendar's promise, that weeping loom of March and April, that bitter blast outraging the honor of May - how often has it robbed me of heart and hope.

The mind which renounces, once and for ever, a futile hope, has its compensation in ever-growing calm.