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

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!

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

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

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

Love ... is a sacred fire that must not be burnt to idols.

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?