Life works upon a compensating balance, and the happiness we gain in one direction we lose in another.

Being poor is a mere trifle. It is being known to be poor that is the sting.

Life is a thing to be lived, not spent; to be faced, not ordered. Life is not a game of chess, the victory to the most knowing; it is a game of cards, one's hand by skill to be made the best of.

It is very strange, this domination of our intellect by our digestive organs. We cannot work, we cannot think, unless our stomach wills so. It dictates to us our emotions, our passions.

A glass of wine often makes me a better man than hearing a sermon.

We are so bound together that no man can labor for himself alone. Each blow he strikes in his own behalf helps to mold the universe.

I saw a great Newfoundland dog the other day sitting in front of a mirror at the entrance to a shop in Regent's Circus, and examining himself with an amount of smug satisfaction that I have never seen equaled elsewhere outside a vestry meeting.