But friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold.

Civilization is the process of reducing the infinite to the finite.

What refuge is there for the victim who is oppressed with the feeling that there are a thousand new books he ought to read, while life is only long enough for him to attempt to read a hundred?

Memory is a net: one that finds it full of fish when he takes it from the brook, but a dozen miles of water have run through it without sticking.

Chicago sounds rough to the maker of verse. One comfort we have - Cincinnati sounds worse.

The mind of a bigot to the pupil of the eye; the more light you pour on it, the more it contracts.

Fresh air is good if you do not take too much of it; most of the achievements and pleasures of life are in bad air.