Terrible and sublime thought, that every moment is supreme for some man and woman, every hour the apotheosis of some passion!

Responsibility's like a string we can only see the middle of. Both ends are out of sight.

It is so much easier to tell intimate things in the dark.

Fear, born of the stern matron Responsibility, sits on one's shoulders like some heavy imp of darkness, and one is preoccupied and, possibly, cantankerous.

One must choose between obscurity with efficiency, and fame with its inevitable collateral of bluff.

A young man must let his ideas grow, not be continually rooting them up to see how they are getting on.

There is far too much talk of love and grief benumbing the faculties, turning the hair gray, and destroying a man's interest in his work. Grief has made many a man look younger.