Memory heaps dead leaves on corpse-like deeds, from under which they do but vaguely offend the sense.

When Man evolved Pity, he did a queer thing - deprived himself of the power of living life as it is without wishing it to become something different.

It isnot good enough tospend time and ink indescribing the penultimate sensations and physical movements of people getting into a state of rut, we all know them so well.

We are all familiar with the argument: Make war dreadful enough, and there will be no war. And we none of us believe it.

It is by muteness that a dog becomes for one so utterly beyond value; with him one is at peace, where words play no torturing tricks.Those are the moments that I think are precious to a dog-when, with his adoring soul coming through his eyes, he feels that you are really thinking of him.

One's eyes are what one is, one's mouth is what one becomes.

Life calls the tune, we dance.