I wish the English still possessed a shred of the old sense of humour which Puritanism, and dyspepsia, and newspaper reading, and tea-drinking have nearly extinguished.

They who are all things to their neighbors cease to be anything to themselves.

One can always trust to time. Insert a wedge of time and nearly everything straightens itself out.

How hard it is, sometimes, to trust the evidence of one's senses! How reluctantly the mind consents to reality.

I can find no room in my cosmos for a deity save as a waste product of human weakness, the excrement of the imagination.

What is all wisdom save a collection of platitudes? But the man who orders his life according to their teachings cannot go far wrong.

Justice is too good for some people and not good enough for the rest.