Confront a child, a puppy, and a kitten with a sudden danger; the child will turn instinctively for assistance, the puppy will grovel in abject submission, the kitten will brace its tiny body for a frantic resistance.
A little inaccuracy sometimes saves a ton of explanation.
The young have aspirations that never come to pass, the old have reminiscences of what never happened.
He's simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed.
Women and elephants never forget an injury.
Poverty keeps together more homes than it breaks up.
Children are given us to discourage our better emotions.
It's no use growing older if you only learn new ways of misbehaving yourself.
Hating anything in the way of ill-natured gossip ourselves, we are always grateful to those who do it for us and do it well.
It is one of the consolations of middle aged reformers that the good that they inculcate must live after them if it is to live at all.
On horseback he seemed to require as many hands as a Hindu god, at least four for clutching the reins, and two more for patting the horse soothingly on the neck.
In baiting a mousetrap with cheese, always leave room for the mouse.
Hors d'oeuvres have always a pathetic interest for me; they remind me of one's childhood that one goes through wondering what the next course is going to be like - and during the rest of the menu one wishes one had eaten more of the hors d'oeuvres.
We all know that Prime Ministers are wedded to the truth, but like other wedded couples they sometimes live apart.
People talk vaguely about the innocence of a little child, but they take mighty good care not to let it out of their sight for twenty minutes.
Why are women so fond of raking up the past? They're as bad as tailors, who invariably remember what you owe them for a suit long after you've ceased to wear it.
Whenever a massacre of Armenians is reported from Asia Minor, every one assumes that it has been carried out "under orders" from somewhere or another; no one seems to think that there are people who might like to kill their neighbours now and then.
He is one of those people who would be enormously improved by death.
You needn't tell me that a man who doesn't love oysters and asparagus and good wines has got a soul, or a stomach either. He's simply got the instinct for being unhappy highly developed.
It was one thing to go to the end of the world; it was quite another thing to make oneself at home there. Even respectability seemed to lose some of its virtue when one practiced it in a tent.
Oysters are more beautiful than any religion....Theres nothing in Christianity or Buddhism that quite matches the sympathetic unselfishness of an oyster.
Find yourself a cup of tea, the teapot is behind you. Now tell me about hundreds of things.
If he had unlimited money at his disposal, he might go into the wilds somewhere and shoot big game. I never know what the big game have done to deserve it, but they do help to deflect the destructive energies of some of our social misfits.
Think how many blameless lives are brightened by the blazing indiscretions of other people.
When people grow gradually rich their requirements and standard of living expand in proportion, while their present-giving instincts often remain in the undeveloped condition of their earlier days. Something showy and not-too-expensive in a shop is their only conception of the ideal gift.
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