. . . clumsiness is often mated with a love of solitude.

Why does Samuel Butler say, 'Wise men never say what they think of women'? Wise men never say anything else apparently.

But how entirely I live in my imagination; how completely depend upon spurts of thought, coming as I walk, as I sit; things churning up in my mind and so making a perpetual pageant, which is to be my happiness.

Does Nature supplement what man advanced? Or does she complete what he began?

Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.

His eyes were bright, and, indeed, he scarcely knew whether they held dreams or realities...and in five minutes she had filled the shell of the old dream with the flesh of life.

There is much to support the view that it is clothes that wear us, and not we, them; we may make them take the mould of arm or breast, but they mould our hearts, our brains, our tongues to their liking.