I hate facts. I always say the chief end of man is to form general propositions - adding that no general proposition is worth a damn.

Man has his will, but woman has her way.

We call those poets who are first to mark, Through earth's dull mist the coming of the dawn, Who see in twilight's gloom the first pale spark, While others only note that day is gone.

You may have genius. The contrary is, of course, probable.

No families take so little medicine as those of doctors, except those of apothecaries.

When I think of talking, it is of course with a woman. For talking at its best being an inspiration, it wants a corresponding divine quality of receptiveness, and where will you find this but in a woman?

The Indian is but a sketch in red crayon of a rudimental manhood. To the problem of his relation to the white race, there is one solution: extermination.