How often do we not see children ruined through the virtues, real or supposed, of their parents?

History is a bucket of ashes.

I am the enfant terrible of literature and science. If I cannot, and I know I cannot, get the literary and scientific bigwigs to give me a shilling, I can, and I know I can, heave bricks into the middle of them.

Our own death is a premium which we must pay for the far greater benefit we have derived from the fact that so many people have not only lived but also died before us.

The foundations which we would dig about and find are within us, like the kingdom of heaven, rather than without.

Arguments are like fire-arms which a man may keep at home but should not carry about with him.

Any fool can tell the truth, but it requires a man of some sense to know how to lie well.