“Immoral” is the judgment of the stalled ox on the gamboling lamb.

In forgiving an injury be somewhat ceremonious, lest your magnanimity be construed as indifference.

* * * * *

True, man does not know woman.  But neither does woman.

Age is provident because the less future we have the more we fear it.

Reason is fallible and virtue vincible; the winds vary and the needle forsakes the pole, but stupidity never errs and never intermits.  Since it has been found that the axis of the earth wabbles, stupidity is indispensable as a standard of constancy.

In order that the list of able women may be memorized for use at meetings of the oppressed sex, Heaven has considerately made it brief.

Firmness is my persistency; obstinacy is yours.

    A little heap of dust,
    A little streak of rust,
    A stone without a name—­
    Lo! hero, sword and fame.

Our vocabulary is defective; we give the same name to woman’s lack of temptation and man’s lack of opportunity.

“You scoundrel, you have wronged me,” hissed the philosopher.  “May you live forever!”

The man who thinks that a garnet can be made a ruby by setting it in brass is writing “dialect” for publication.

“Who art thou, stranger, and what dost thou seek?”

“I am Generosity, and I seek a person named Gratitude.”

“Then thou dost not deserve to find her.”

“True.  I will go about my business and think of her no more.  But who art thou, to be so wise?”

“I am Gratitude—­farewell forever.”

There was never a genius who was not thought a fool until he disclosed himself; whereas he is a fool then only.

The boundaries that Napoleon drew have been effaced; the kingdoms that he set up have disappeared.  But all the armies and statecraft of Europe cannot unsay what you have said.

  Strive not for singularity in dress;
  Fools have the more and men of sense the less. 
  To look original is not worth while,
  But be in mind a little out of style.

A conqueror arose from the dead.  “Yesterday,” he said, “I ruled half the world.”  “Please show me the half that you ruled,” said an angel, pointing out a wisp of glowing vapor floating in space.  “That is the world.”

“Who art thou, shivering in thy furs?”

“My name is Avarice.  What is thine?”

“Unselfishness.”

“Where is thy clothing, placid one?”

“Thou art wearing it.”

To be comic is merely to be playful, but wit is a serious matter.  To laugh at it is to confess that you do not understand.

If you would be accounted great by your contemporaries, be not too much greater than they.

To have something that he will not desire, nor know that he has—­such is the hope of him who seeks the admiration of posterity.  The character of his work does not matter; he is a humorist.