“Don’t blame the mirror if your face is faulty.”

For public opinion does not admit that lofty rapturous laughter is worthy to stand beside lofty lyrical emotion and that there isall the difference in the world between it and the antics of a clown at a fair.

We ought to thank God for that. Yes, the man who tills the land is more worthy of respect than any.

Steeds, steeds, what steeds! Has the whirlwind a home in your manes?

However stupid a fools words may be, they are sometimes enough to confound an intelligent man.

it’s not my job to preach a sermon. Art is anyhow a homily. My job is to speak in living images, not in arguments. I must exhibit life full-face, not discuss life.

I tell everyone very plainly that I take bribes, but what kind of bribes? Why, greyhound puppies. That’s a totally different matter.

Countless are, as the sand in the sea, the deep desires of men, and none resembles the other, and all of them, whether shameful, or great, in the beginning are obedient, but later become terrible masters over him.

Always think of what is useful and not what is beautiful. Beauty will come of its own accord.

The more debris there is the more it will show the governor’s activity.

A time of famine and poverty will come and the people as a whole as well as every individual in it will suffer.

Sank into the profound slumber which comes only to such fortunate folk as are troubled neither with mosquitoes nor fleas nor excessive activity of brain.

Also, though not over-elderly, he was not over-young.

There are occasions when a woman, no matter how weak and impotent in character she may be in comparison with a man, will yet suddenly become not only harder than any man, but even harder than anything and everything in the world.

It is no use to blame the looking glass if your face is awry.

The Lord grant we may all be tillers of the soil.

Whatever you may say, the body depends on the soul.

If we go on the way we have, the fault is our greed and if we are not willing to change.

The mystery of existence is the connection between our faults and our misfortunes.

It is almost always a fault of one who loves not to realize when he ceases to be loved.

Quarrels would not last long if the fault was only on one side.

Some people displease with merit, and others’ very faults and defects are pleasing.

We only confess our little faults to persuade people that we have no big ones.

We only acknowledge small faults in order to make it appear that we are free from great ones.

All the passions make us commit faults; love makes us commit the most ridiculous ones.