The important work of moving the world forward does not wait to be done by perfect men.

Certainly, the mistakes that we male and female mortals make when we have our own way might fairly raise some wonder that we're so fond of it.

No compliment can be eloquent, except as an expression of indifference.

Ignorance... is a painless evil; so, I should think, is dirt, considering the merry faces that go along with it.

Our passions do not live apart in locked chambers but dress in their small wardrobe of notions, bring their provisions to a common table and mess together, feeding out of the common store according to their appetite.

If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. As it is, the best of us walk about well wadded with stupidity.

When we get to wishing a great deal for ourselves, whatever we get soon turns into mere limitation and exclusion.

Kisses honeyed by oblivion.

The reward of one's duty is the power to fulfill another.

What quarrel, what harshness, what unbelief in each other can subsist in the presence of a great calamity, when all the artificial vesture of our life is gone, and we are all one with each other in primitive mortal needs?