Perhaps this is an age when men think bravely of the human spirit; for surely they have a strange lust to lay it bare.
The evening papers print what they do and get away with it because by afternoon the human mind is ruined anyhow.
The man who never in his life Has washed the dishes with his wife Or polished up the silver plate – He still is largely celibate.
America is still a government of the naive, for the naive, and by the naive. He who does not know this, nor relish it, has no inkling of the nature of his country.
Blessed is he who has never been tempted; for he knows not the frailty of his rectitude.
From now until the end of time no one else will ever see life with my eyes, and I mean to make the best of my chance.
There are a lot of people who must have the table laid in the usual fashion or they will not enjoy the dinner.
Poetry comes with anger, hunger and dismay; it does not often visit groups of citizens sitting down to be literary together, and would appal them if it did.
Blessed is the satirist; and blessed the ironist; blessed the witty scoffer, and blessed the sentimentalist; for each, having seen one spoke of the wheel, thinks to have seen all, and is content.
Truth, like milk, arrives in the dark But even so, wise dogs don’t bark. Only mongrels make it hard For the milkman to come up the yard.
Animal crackers, and cocoa to drink That is the finest of suppers, I think When I’m grown up and can have what I please, I think I shall always insist upon these.
Be prepared for truth at all hours and in the most fantastic disguises. This is the only safety.
We visit bookshops not so often to buy any one special book, but rather to rediscover, in the happier and more expressive words of others, our own encumbered soul.
When Abraham Lincoln was murdered The one thing that interested Matthew Arnold Was that the assassin shouted in Latin As he lept on the stage This convinced Matthew There was still hope for America.
Happiness is surely the best teacher of good manners: only the unhappy are churlish in deportment.
The most interesting persons are always those who have nothing special to do: children, nurses, policemen and actors at 11 o’clock in the morning.
One of the penalties of being a human being is other human beings.
A critic is a gong at a railroad crossing clanging loudly and vainly as the train goes by.
There are certain people whom one feels almost inclined to urge to hurry up and die so that their letters can be published.
Men talk of “finding God,” but no wonder it is difficult; He is hidden in that darkest hiding-place, your heart. You yourself are a part of Him.