A coxcomb is one whom simpletons believe to be a man of merit.
The mere process of growing old together will make the slightest acquaintance seem a bosom friend.
Growing old is not a gradual decline, but a series of drops, full of sorrow, from one ledge to another below it.
Happiness is a wine of the rarest vintage, and seems insipid to a vulgar taste.
When elderly invalids meet with fellow-victims of their own ailments, then at last real conversation begins, and life is delicious.
The great art of writing is the art of making people real to themselves with words.
What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought; gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.
You know you are really famous the day you discover you have become a comic character!
Can a woman become a genius of the first class? Nobody can know unless women in general shall have equal opportunity with men in education, in vocational choice, and in social welcome of their best intellectual work for a number of generations.
Have any of you taken a look out at Greece in the last, say, hour or so? (Hermes) What? Are they reacting to the fact I cursed the Apollites? (Apollo) I don’t think that bothers them nearly as much as the fact the island of Atlantis is now gone and the Atlantean goddess Apollymi is cutting a swathe through our country, laying waste to everyone and everything she comes into contact with. And in case you’re curious, she’s headed straight for us. I could be really wrong here, but I’m guessing the woman’s extremely pissed. (Hermes)
My big thing is people. I just love people in my life.