A soiled baby with a neglected nose cannot be conscientiously regarded as a thing of beauty.

Truth is stranger than fiction-to some people, but I am measurably familiar with it.

April 1. This is the day upon which we are reminded of what we are on the other three hundred and sixty-four.

Talking of patriotism, what humbug it is; it is a word which always commemorates a robbery.

The newspaper that obstructs the law on a trivial pretext, for money's sake, is a dangerous enemy to the public weal. That awful power, the public opinion of a nation, is created in America by a horde of ignorant, self-complacent simpletons who failed at ditching and shoemaking and fetched up in journalism on their way to the poorhouse.

The statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception.

Nothing seems to please a fly so much as to be taken for a currant; and if it can be baked in a cake and palmed off on the unwary, it dies happy.