With the superciliousness of extreme youth, I put thirty-five as the utmost limit at which a man might fall in love without making a fool of himself.

I do not confer praise or blame: I accept. I am the measure of all things. I am the center of the world.

But what is criticism? Criticism is purely destructive; anyone can destroy, but not everyone can build up.

It is good to be on your guard against an Englishman who speaks French perfectly; he is very likely to be a card-sharper or an attache in the diplomatic service.

No man in his heart is quite so cynical as a well-bred woman.

People ask for criticism, but they only want praise.

A Unitarian very earnestly disbelieves what everyone else believes.