Frankness invites frankness.

Commit a crime, and the earth is made of glass.

There are moods in which we court suffering, in the hope that here, at least, we shall find reality, sharp peaks and edges of truth. But it turns out to be scene-painting and counterfeit. The only thing grief has taught me is to know how shallow it is.

Every hero becomes a bore at last.

Each age, it is found, must write its own books; or rather, each generation for the next succeeding.

There is this to be said in favor of drinking, that it takes the drunkard first out of society, then out of the world.

The light by which we see in this world comes out from the soul of the observer. Wherever any noble sentiment dwelt, it made the faces and houses around to shine. Nay, the powers of this busy brain are miraculous and illimitable.