There is no good in arguing with the inevitable. The only argument available with an east wind is to put on your overcoat.

The dandelions and buttercups gild all the lawn: the drowsy bee stumbles among the clover tops, and summer sweetens all to me.

There is nothing so desperately monotonous as the sea, and I no longer wonder at the cruelty of pirates.

Not what we give, but what we share, for the gift without the giver is bare.

We cannot but think there is something like a fallacy in Mr. Buckle's theory that the advance of mankind is necessarily in the direction of science, and not in that of morals.

The intellect has only one failing, which, to be sure, is a very considerable one. It has no conscience.

Christ was the first true democrat that ever breathed, as the old dramatist Dekkar said he was the first true gentleman.