A man's house burns down. The smoking wreckage represents only a ruined home that was dear through years of use and pleasant associations. By and by, as the days and weeks go on, first he misses this, then that, then the other thing. And when he casts about for it he finds that it was in that house. Always it is an essential - here was but one of its kind. It cannot be replaced. It was in that house. It is irrevocably lost...It will be years before the tale of lost essentials is complete, and not till then can he truly know the magnitude of his disaster.

We do not get ice-cream every where, and so, when we do, we are apt to dissipate to excess.

A joke, even if it be a lame one, is nowhere so keenly relished or quickly applauded as in a murder trial.

Most men die at 27, we just bury them at 72.

The Church worked hard at it night and day during nine centuries and imprisoned, tortured, hanged, and burned whole hordes and armies of witches, and washed the Christian world clean with their foul blood. Then it was discovered that there was no such thing as witches, and never had been. One doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry. Who discovered that there was no such thing as a witch - the priest, the parson? No, these never discover anything.

Warm summer sun, shine kindly here.

There are laws to protect the freedom of the press's speech, but none that are worth anything to protect the people from the press