Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, I grant you that… Yes, yes, it's the most comical thing in the world. And we laugh, we laugh, with a will, in the beginning. But it's always the same thing. Yes, it's like the funny story we have heard too often, we still find it funny, but we don't laugh any more.

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

Over, over, there is a soft place in my heart for all that is over, no, for the being over, words have been my only loves, not many.

For the only way one can speak of nothing is to speak of it as though it were something, just as the only way one can speak of God is to speak of him as though he were a man, which to be sure he was, in a sense, for a time, and as the only way one can speak of man, even our anthropologists have realized that, is to speak of him as though he were a termite.

Deplorable mania, when something happens, to inquire what.

What kind of country is this where a woman can't weep her heart out on the highways and byways without being tormented by retired bill-brokers!

The bicycle is a great good. But it can turn nasty, if ill employed.