Everybody is so talented nowadays that the only people I care to honor as deserving real distinction are those who remain in obscurity.
Dialect words are those terrible marks of the beast to the truly genteel.
Fear is the mother of foresight.
The sky was clear - remarkably clear - and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse.
Yes; quaint and curious war is! You shoot a fellow down you'd treat if met where any bar is, or help to half-a-crown.
My argument is that War makes rattling good history; but Peace is poor reading.
The sudden disappointment of a hope leaves a scar which the ultimate fulfillment of that hope never entirely removes.
Time changes everything except something within us which is always surprised by change.
