We love old travelers: we love to hear them prate, drivel and lie; we love them for their asinine vanity, their ability to bore, their luxuriant fertility of imagination, their startling, brilliant, overwhelming mendacity.

To be, or not to be; that is the bare bodkin That makes calamity of so long life.

We regret the things we don't do more than the things we do.

Only he who has seen better days and lives to see better days again knows their full value.

When in doubt tell the truth.

Switzerland would me a mighty big place if it were ironed flat.

The frankest and freest and privatest product of the human mind and heart is a love letter.