Never trust a sentimentalist. They are all alike, pretenders to virtue, at heart selfish frauds and sensualists.

If the rose puzzled its mind over the question how it grew, it would not have been the miracle that it is.

Never trust a sentimentalist. They are all alike, pretenders to virtue, at heart selfish frauds and sensualists.

Always when I see a man fond of praise I always think it is because he is an affectionate man craving for affection

The Americans never walk. In winter too cold and in summer too hot.

Personality is born out of pain. It is the fire shut up in the flint.