I don't believe in principle, but I do in interest.

No man is born into the world whose work is not born with him. There is always work, and tools to work with, for those who will, and blessed are the horny hands of toil. The busy world shoves angrily aside the man who stands with arms akimbo until occasion tells him what to do; and he who waits to have his task marked out shall die and leave his errand unfulfilled.

To fail at all is to fail utterly.

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.

Metaphor is no argument, though it be sometimes the gunpowder to drive one home, and imbed it in the memory.

Blessed are they who have nothing to say and who cannot be persuaded to say it.

A sneer is the weapon of the weak.