Nothing so focuses the mind as the prospect of being hanged.

Nothing exists but you. And you are but a thought.

France has neither winter nor summer nor morals. Apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country.

The common eye sees only the outside of things, and judges by that, but the seeing eye pierces through and reads the heart and the soul, finding there capacities which the outside didn't indicate or promise, and which the other kind of eye couldn't detect.

The man who does not read good books has no advantage over the man who cannot read them.

It is easy to make plans in this world; even a cat can do it; and when one is out in those remote oceans it is noticeable that a cat's plans and a man's are worth about the same. There is much the same shrinkage in both, in the matter of values.

The poetry is all in the anticipation, for there is none in reality.