Who is it that loves me and will love me forever with an affection which no chance, no misery, no crime of mine can do away? It is you, my mother.

The crash of the whole solar and stellar systems could only kill you once.

If you do not wish a man to do a thing, you had better get him to talk about it; for the more men talk, the more likely they are to do nothing else.

There is a great discovery still to be made in literature, that of paying literary men by the quantity they do not write.

History is a mighty dramos, enacted upon the theatre of times, with suns for lamps and eternity for a background.

Enjoying things which are pleasant; that is not the evil; it is the reducing of our moral self to slavery by them that is.

Hunger whets everything, especially Suspicion and Indignation.