I am at the moment deaf in the ears, hoarse in the throat, red in the nose, green in the gills, damp in the eyes, twitchy in the joints and fractious in temper from a most intolerable and oppressive cold.
It was very dark; but in the murky sky there were masses of cloud which shone with a lurid light, like monstrous heaps of copper that had been heated in a furnace, and were growing cold.
I never see any difference in boys. I only know two sorts of boys. Mealy boys and beef-faced boys.
A man in public life expects to be sneered at – it is the fault of his elevated situation, and not of himself.
We must scrunch or be scrunched.
And I am quite serious when I say that I do not believe there are, on the whole earth besides, so many intensified bores as in these United States.
Heaven suits the back to the burden.
It may be only small injustice that the child can be exposed to; but the child is small, and its world is small, and its rocking-horse stands as many hands high, according to scale, as a big-boned Irish hunter.
Them which is of other naturs thinks different.
Every failure teaches a man something, if he will but learn.
Never imitate the eccentricities of genius, but toil after it in its truer flights. They are not so easy to follow, but they lead to higher regions.
I ate ’umble pie with an appetite.
I think the Romans must have aggravated one another very much, with their noses. Perhaps, they became the restless people they were, in consequence.
Poetry’s unnat’ral; no man ever talked poetry ‘cept a beadle on boxin’ day.
A man ain’t got no right to be a public man, unless he meets the public views.
A man must take the fat with the lean.
Stranger, pause and ask thyself the question, Canst thou do likewise? If not, with a blush retire.
My daughter, there are times of moral danger when the hardest virtuous resolution to form is flight, and when the most heroic bravery is flight.
Some women’s faces are, in their brightness, a prophecy; and some, in their sadness, a history.
If the parks be “the lungs of London” we wonder what Greenwich Fair is – a periodical breaking out, we suppose – a sort of spring rash.