I can reason down or deny everything, except this perpetual Belly: feed he must and will, and I cannot make him respectable.

Let the stoics say what they please, we do not eat for the good of living, but because the meat is savory and the appetite is keen.

The time is coming when all men will see that the gift of God to the soul is not a vaunting, overpowering, excluding sanctity, buta sweet, natural goodness, a goodness like thine and mine, and that so invites thine and mine to be and to grow.

With thought, with the ideal, is immortal hilarity, the rose of joy. Round it all the muses sing.

All high beauty has a moral element in it.

Pines a thousand years old. Every year they must go farther for them: they recede, like beavers and Indians, before the white man.

Sitting back in the evening, stargazing and stroking your dog, is an infallible remedy.