We communicate like the burrows of foxes, in silence and darkness, under ground. We are undermined by faith and love.

We are double-edged blades, and every time we whet our virtue the return stroke strops our vice.

The animal merely makes a bed, which he warms with his body in a sheltered place; but man, having discovered fire, boxes up some air in a spacious apartment, and warms that, instead of robbing himself, makes that his bed, in which he can move about divested of more cumbrous clothing, maintain a kind of summer in the midst of winter, and by means of windows even admit the light and with a lamp lengthen out the day.

We cannot write well or truly but what we write with gusto.

The only people who ever get anyplace interesting are the people who get lost.

I have learned that even the smallest house can be a home.

Whatever has not come under the sway of man is wild. In this sense original and independent men are wild - not tamed and broken by society.