Men, like peaches and pears, grow sweet a little while before they begin to decay.

There is something frightful in the way in which not only characteristic qualities, but particular manifestations of them, are repeated from generation to generation.

Where we stand is not as important as the direction in which we are moving.

There is in all men a demand for the superlative, so much so that the poor devil that has no other way of reaching it attains it by getting drunk.

There is nothing like the dead cold hand of the past to take down our tumid egotism and lead us into the solemn flow of the life of our race.

Blood is a destiny. One's genius descends in the stream from long lines of ancestry.

People talk fundamentals and superlatives and then make some changes of detail.