Fiction is to the grown man what play is to the child; it is there that he changes the atmosphere and tenor of his life.

So long as we love we serve; so long as we are loved by others, I would almost say that we are indispensable; and no man is useless while he has a friend.

The mark of a Scot of all classes [is that] he ... remembers and cherishes the memory of his forebears, good or bad; and there burns alive in him a sense of identity with the dead even to the twentieth generation.

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

Make up your mind to be happy.

I am not afraid of the truth, if any one could tell it me, but I am afraid of parts of it impertinently uttered.

I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me licking the chops of memory; the spiritual side a little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but not yet moved to begin.