One's conscience reproaches one much more stingingly for one's follies than one's crimes.

But have you never noticed that when one has been trying to do something really good one is much nearer committing some special sin than when one keeps on in the selfish, matter-of-fact prudence of minding one's own business, and that alone?

Death is the last fact of which we can be certain.

Whilst you live a very little religion seems enough; but believe me, it requires a great deal when you come to die.

Did you ever see a giraffe? It is like something from between the regions of truth and fiction.

men change less than is imagined; their after life is only a kaleidescope combination of the elements of their character at the period of adolescence.

I wish there were some photographic process by which one's mind could be struck off and transferred to that of the friend we wish to know it, without the medium of this confounded letter-writing!