To great evils we submit, we resent little provocations.

The characteristic of Chaucer is intensity: of Spencer, remoteness: of Milton elevation and of Shakespeare everything.

Old friendships are like meats served up repeatedly, cold, comfortless, and distasteful. The stomach turns against them.

The only vice that cannot be forgiven is hypocrisy. The repentance of a hypocrite is itself hypocrisy.

The book-worm wraps himself up in his web of verbal generalities, and sees only the glimmering shadows of things reflected from the minds of others.

We are never so much disposed to quarrel with others as when we are dissatisfied with ourselves.

Those who are at war with others are not at peace with themselves.