To us who remain behind is left this day of memories. Every year--in the full tide of spring, at the height of the symphony of flowers and love and life--there comes a pause, and through the silence we hear the lonely pipe of death.

There are three natural anaesthetics: Sleep, fainting, and death.

The minute a phrase, becomes current, it becomes an apology for not thinking accurately to the end of the sentence.

Young man, the secret of my success is that an early age I discovered that I was not God.

And silence, like a poultice, comes To heal the blows of sound.

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

As for the excellent little wretches who grow up in what they are taught, with never a scruple or a query, ... they signify nothing in the intellectual life of the race.