In the Spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather inside of 24 hours.

To get the right word in the right place is a rare achievement.

When the doctrine of allegiance to party can utterly up-end a man's moral constitution and make a temporary fool of him besides, what excuse are you going to offer for preaching it, teaching it, extending it, perpetuating it? Shall you say, the best good of the country demands allegiance to party? Shall you also say it demands that a man kick his truth and his conscience into the gutter, and become a mouthing lunatic, besides?

They do say that when a man starts down hill everybody is ready to help him with a kick, and I suppose it is so.

It was in Warwick Castle that I came across the curious stranger whom I am going to talk about. He attracted me by three things: his candid simplicity, his marvelous familiarity with ancient armor, and the restfulness of his company--for he did all the talking.

I could have become a soldier if I had waited; I knew more about retreating than the man who invented retreating.

The reason why truth is so much stranger than fiction is that there is no requirement for it to be consistent.