Youth is the time to go flashing from one end of the world to the other to try the manners of different nations; to hear the chimes at midnight; to see the sunrise in town and country; to be converted at a revival; to circumnavigate the metaphysics, write halting verses, run a mile to see a fire, and wait all day long in the theatre to applaud Hernani.

Of what shall a man be proud, if he is not proud of his friends?

Love- what is love? A great and aching heart; Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair

For God's sake give me the young man who has brains enough to make a fool of himself!

Wine is bottled poetry.

As if a man's soul were not too small to begin with, they have dwarfed an narrowed theirs by a life of all work and no play; until here they are at forty, with a listless attention, a mind vacant of all material of amusement, and not one thought to rub against another, while they wait for the train.

Saints are sinners who kept on going.