He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion. Our dogs will love and admire the meanest of us, and feed our colossal vanity with their uncritical homage.
AGNES REPPLIERThe least practical of us have some petty thrift dear to our hearts, some one direction in which we love to scrimp.
More Agnes Repplier Quotes
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Sensuality, too, which used to show itself course, smiling, unmasked, and unmistakable, is now serious, analytic, and so burdened with a sense of its responsibilities that it passes muster half the time as a new type of asceticism.
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Wit is a thing capable of proof.
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Edged tools are dangerous things to handle, and not infrequently do much hurt.
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There are many ways of asking a favor; but to assume that you are granting the favor that you ask shows spirit and invention.
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The dog is guided by kindly instinct to the man or woman whose heart is open to his advances. The cat often leaves the friend who courts her, to honor, or to harass, the unfortunate mortal who shudders at her unwelcome caresses.
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Necessity knows no Sunday.
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The cat dwells within the circle of her own secret thoughts.
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real letter-writing … is founded on a need as old and as young as humanity itself, the need that one human being has of another.
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The well-ordered mind knows the value, no less than the charm, of reticence. The fruit of the tree of knowledge … falls ripe from its stem; but those who have eaten with sobriety find no need to discuss the processes of digestion.
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The least practical of us have some petty thrift dear to our hearts, some one direction in which we love to scrimp.
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There is a natural limit to the success we wish our friends, even when we have spurred them on their way.
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The diseases of the present have little in common with the diseases of the past save that we die of them.
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It is not easy to find happiness in ourselves, and it is not possible to find it elsewhere.
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When the milk of human kindness turns sour, it is a singularly unpalatable draught.
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People with theories of life are, perhaps, the most relentless of their kind, for no time or place is sacred from their devastating elucidations.
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