Life is a breathing-space between two eternities, a holiday with appalling realities behind and before.

Family traits, like murder, will out. Nature has but so many molds.

My own passion, all my life, has been non-collecting.

I am not in the least given to any violent interest in womankind, however, such as has addled the country's brains of late. Give me a manandwoman world: 'tis good enough!

Youth is slipping, dripping, pearl on pearl, away.

Idleness, simon-pure, from which all manner of good springs like seed from a fallow soil, is sure to be misnamed and misconstrued.

Youth, ah, Youth! all men's desire and sorrow.