“There is no progress whatever. Everything is just the same as it was thousands, and tens of thousands, of years ago. The outward form changes. The essence does not change.”

I should say that we are almost indispensable; and no man is useless while he has a friend.

Books are good enough in their own way, but they are a poor substitute for life.

The web, then, or the pattern, a web at once sensuous and logical.

In marriage, a man becomes slack and selfish, and undergoes a fatty degeneration of his moral being.

You cannot run away from weakness; you must some time fight it out or perish; and if that be so, why not now, and where you stand?

The Devil, can sometimes do a very gentlemanly thing.

Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.

The body is a house of many windows: there we all sit, showing ourselves and crying on the passers-by to come and love us.

That man is a success who has lived well, laughed often and loved much.

To be what we are, and to become what we are capable of becoming, is the only end of life.

To become what we are capable of becoming is the only end in life.

Mankind was never so happily inspired as when it made a cathedral.

The price we have to pay for money is sometimes liberty.

The cruelest lies are often told in silence.

The correction of silence is what kills; when you know you have transgressed, and your friend says nothing, and avoids your eye.

Yet we make the same impression on Buddhists and vegetarians, for we feed on babies, though not our own.