When was ever honey made with one bee in a hive?

What is mind? No matter. What is matter? Never mind. What is the soul? It is immaterial.

Well for the drones of the social hive that there are bees of an industrious turn, willing, for an infinitesimal share of the honey, to undertake the labor of its fabrication.

Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, Unnatural and full of contradictions; Yet others of our most romantic schemes, Are something more than fictions.

My books kept me from the ring, the dog-pit, the tavern, and the saloon.

A moment's thinking is an hour in words.

A certain portion of the human race has certainly a taste for being diddled.