What is that unforgettable line?

Life is habit. Or rather life is a succession of habits.

Friendship, according to Proust, is the negation of that irremediable solitude to which every human being is condemned.

Absolute virtue is as sure to kill a man as absolute vice is, let alone the dullness of it and the pomposities of it.

Abode where lost bodies roam each searching for its lost one.

Humbly to ask a favour of people who are on the point of knocking your brains out sometimes produces good results.

There's man all over for you, blaming on his boots the fault of his feet.