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

In baiting a mousetrap with cheese, always leave room for the mouse.

The cat of the slums and alleys, starved, outcast, harried, still keeps amid the prowlings of its adversity the bold, free, panther-tread with which it paced of yore the temple courts of Thebes, still displays the self-reliant watchfulness which man has never taught it to lay aside.

It was one thing to go to the end of the world; it was quite another thing to make oneself at home there. Even respectability seemed to lose some of its virtue when one practiced it in a tent.

Find yourself a cup; the teapot is behind you. Now tell me about hundreds of things.

To be clever in the afternoon argues that one is dining nowhere in the evening.

Life is full of its disappointments, and I suppose the art of being happy is to disguise them as illusions.