An abundance of some good things is perfectly compatible with the scarcity of others; that life is everywhere precarious, man everywhere small.

A tragic writer does not have to believe in God, but he must believe in man.

In history as it comes to be written, there is usually some Spirit of the Age which historians can define, but the shape of things is seldom so clear to those who live them. To most thoughtful men it has generally seemed that theirs was an Age of Confusion.

Nature, in her blind thirst for life has filled every possible cranny of the rotting earth with some sort of fantastic creature.

Man is, perhaps, no more prone to war than he used to be and no more inclined to commit other evil deeds. But a given amount of ill will or folly will go further than it used to.

Civilizations die from philosophical calm, irony, and a sense of fair play quite as surely as they die of debauchery.

Cats seem to go on the principle that it never does any harm to ask for what you want.