No one can be an unbeliever nowadays. The Christian apologists have left one nothing to disbelieve.

There was something alike terrifying and piteous in the spectacle of these frail old morsels of humanity consecrating their last flickering energies to the task of making each other wretched. Hatred seemed to be the one faculty which had survived in undiminished vigor where all else was dropping into ordered and symmetrical decay.

A woman who takes her husband about with her everywhere is like a cat that goes on playing with a mouse long after she's killed it.

A little inaccuracy sometimes saves a ton of explanation.

The man is a common murderer. A common murderer, possible, but a very uncommon cook.

Once a female, always a female. Nature is not always infallible but she always abides by her mistakes.

The cat is domestic only as far as suits its own ends.