The human race may be divided into people who love cats and people who hate them; the neutrals being few in numbers, and, for intellectual and moral reasons, not worth considering.
AGNES REPPLIERA man who listens because he has nothing to say can hardly be a source of inspiration. The only listening that counts is that of the talker who alternately absorbs and expresses ideas.
More Agnes Repplier Quotes
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In those happy days when leisure was held to be no sin, men and women wrote journals whose copiousness both delights and dismays us.
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For indeed all that we think so new to-day has been acted over and over again, a shifting comedy, by the women of every century.
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Everybody is now so busy teaching that nobody has any time to learn.
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Humor hardens the heart, at least to the point of sanity.
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The most charming thing about youth is the tenacity of its impressions.
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The essence of humor is that it should be unexpected, that it should embody an element of surprise, that it should startle us out of that reasonable gravity which, after all, must be our habitual frame of mind.
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It is not what we learn in conversation that enriches us. It is the elation that comes of swift contact with tingling currents of thought.
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The comfortable thing about the study of history is that it inclines us to think hopefully of our own times.
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If everybody floated with the tide of talk, placidity would soon end in stagnation. It is the strong backward stroke which stirs the ripples, and gives animation and variety.
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People who pin their faith to a catchword never feel the necessity of understanding anything.
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This is the sphinx of the hearthstone, the little god of domesticity, whose presence turns a house into a home.
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Who that has plodded on to middle age would take back upon his shoulders ten of the vanished years, with their mingled pleasures and pains? Who would return to the youth he is forever pretending to regret?
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While art may instruct as well as please, it can nevertheless be true art without instructing, but not without pleasing.
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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.
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A real dog, beloved and therefore pampered by his mistress, is a lamentable spectacle. He suffers from fatty degeneration of his moral being.
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