Quarrel? Nonsense; we have not quarreled. If one is not to get into a rage sometimes, what is the good of being friends?
To manage men, one ought to have a sharp mind in a velvet sheath.
Life is measured by the rapidity of change, the succession of influences that modify the being.
There are some cases in which the sense of injury breeds -- not the will to inflict injuries and climb over them as a ladder, but -- a hatred of all injury.
Hatred is like fire; it makes even light rubbish deadly.
Our impartiality is kept for abstract merit and demerit, which none of us ever saw.
If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. As it is, the best of us walk about well wadded with stupidity.
Ignorance gives one a large range of probabilities.
Sympathetic people often don't communicate well, they back reflected images which hide their own depths.
How unspeakably the lengthening of memories in common endears our old friends!
Any coward can fight a battle when he's sure of winning, but give me the man who has pluck to fight when he's sure of losing. That's my way, sir; and there are many victories worse than a defeat.
The only failure a man ought to fear is failure in cleaving to the purpose he sees to be best.
Animals are such agreeable friends, they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms.
In spite of his practical ability, some of his experience had petrified into maxims and quotations.