There is nothing like a start, and being born, however pessimistic one may become in later years, is undeniably a start.

Wives invariably flourish when deserted; ... it is the deserting male, the reckless idealist rushing about the world seeking a non-existent felicity, who often ends in disaster.

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

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

An Englishman never takes his collar off when he is writing. How can you expect him to show you his soul?

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.

The wives who are not deserted, but who have to feed and clothe and comfort and scold and advise, are the true objects of commiseration; wives whose existence is given over to a ceaseless vigil of cantankerous affection.