Sing a song of seasons; something bright in all, flowers in the summer, fires in the fall.

I travel not to go anywhere, but to go.

I know what happiness is, for I have done good work.

You can read Kant by yourself, if you wanted to; but you must share a joke with someone else.

When I suffer in mind, stories are my refuge; I take them like opium; and consider one who writes them as a sort of doctor of the mind.

This profusion of eccentricities, this dream in masonry and living rock is not a drop scene in a theatre, but a city in the world of reality.

Sir, with no intention to take offence, I deny your right to put words into my mouth.