Woman dwell always in the palace of unpalatable truth and never by any chance is there a magic talisman to save them from their destiny. Speech is their ultimate need. We men exist for them only in so far as we can be described.

People don't ever seem to realize that doing what's right, writes no guarantee against misfortune.

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

The worldly relations of men and women often form an equation that cancels out without warning when some insignificant factor has been added to either side.

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.

The artist in his teens who is happy is a charlatan. Life comes bursting in all around lis too suddenly, too crudely, too cruelly, for happiness.

There is nothing like an odor to stir memories.