There is no life of a man, faithfully recorded, but is a heroic poem of its sort, rhymed or unrhymed.

I grow daily to honour facts more and more, and theory less and less. A fact, it seems to me, is a great thing; a sentence printed, if not by God, then at least by the Devil.

I had a lifelong quarrel with God, but in the end we made up.

No violent extreme endures.

Great is wisdom; infinite is the value of wisdom. It cannot be exaggerated; it is the highest achievement of man.

The hell of these days is the fear of not getting along, especially of not making money.

Innumerable are the illusions and legerdemain-tricks of custom: but of all of these, perhaps the cleverest is her knack of persuading us that the miraculous, by simple repetition, ceases to be miraculous.