In spite of his practical ability, some of his experience had petrified into maxims and quotations.
It is in these acts called trivialities that the seeds of joy are forever wasted, until men and women look round with haggard faces at the devastation their own waste has made, and say, the earth bears no harvest of sweetness -- calling their denial knowledge.
I like not only to be loved, but to be told that I am loved; the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave.
Certainly, the mistakes that we male and female mortals make when we have our own way might fairly raise some wonder that we're so fond of it.
Sir Joshua would have been glad to take her portrait; and he would have had an easier task than the historian at least in this, that he would not have had to represent the truth of change --only to give stability to one beautiful moment.
Opposition may become sweet to a man when he has christened it persecution.
But most of us are apt to settle within ourselves that the man who blocks our way is odious, and not to mind causing him a little of the disgust which his personality excites in ourselves.
The best augury of a man's success in his profession is that he thinks it the finest in the world.
Great feelings will often take the aspect of error, and great faith the aspect of illusion.
There are various orders of beauty, causing men to make fools of themselves in various styles... but there is one order of beauty which seems made to turn the heads not only of men, but of all intelligent mammals, even of women. It is a beauty like that of kittens, or very small downy ducks making gentle rippling noises with their soft bills, or babies just beginning to toddle and to engage in conscious mischief --a beauty with which you can never be angry, but that you feel ready to crush for inability to comprehend the state of mind into which it throws you.
Genius at first is little more than a great capacity for receiving discipline.
What loneliness is more lonely than distrust?
Death is the king of this world: 'Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet
Animals are such agreeable friends, they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms.
Our joy is dead, and only smiles on us.