Thirstily he set it to his lips, and as its cool refreshment began to soothe his throat, he thanked Heaven that in a world of much evil there was still so good a thing as ale.

He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.

It came to Mr. Blood, as he trudged forward under the laden apple-trees on that fragrant, delicious July morning, that man—as he had long suspected—was the vilest work of God, and that only a fool would set himself up as a healer of a species that was best exterminated.

Regret of neglected opportunity is the worst hell that a living soul can inhabit.

Only he who is without anything is without enemies.

To do what you imply would require nothing short of divine intervention. You must change man, not systems.

He was suffering from the loss of an illusion.