The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect him precisely as you wish.

I've a grand memory for forgetting.

A Morning Prayer The day returns and brings us the petty round of irritating concerns and duties. Help us to play the man; help us to perform them with laughter and kind faces, let cheerfulness abound with industry. Give us to go blithely on our business all this day. Bring us to our resting beds weary and content and undishonored and grant us in the end the gift of sleep.

Here it is about gentlemen of fortune. They lives rough, and they risk swinging, but they eat and drink like fighting-cocks, and when a cruise is done, why, it's hundreds of pounds instead of hundreds of farthings in their pockets.

No human being ever spoke of scenery for above two minutes at a time, which makes me suspect that we hear too much of it in literature.

The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.

The spirit of delight comes in small ways.