Men of genius are not quick judges of character. Deep thinking and high imagining blunt that trivial instinct by which you and I size people up.
Death cancels all engagements.
In every human being one or the other of these two instincts is predominant: the active or positive instinct to offer hospitality, the negative or passive instinct to accept it. And either of these instincts is so significant of character that one might as well say that mankind is divisible into two great classes: hosts and guests.
I was a modest, good-humoured boy. It is Oxford that has made me insufferable.
Most women are not so young as they are painted.
The Non-Conformist Conscience makes cowards of us all.
To say that a man is vain means merely that he is pleased with the effect he produces on other people. A conceited man is satisfied with the effect he produces on himself.
It seems to be a law of nature that no man, unless he has some obvious physical deformity, ever is loth to sit for his portrait.
Strange, when you come to think of it, that of all the countless folk who have lived before our time on this planet not one is known in history or in legend as having died of laughter.
I am a Tory Anarchist. I should like every one to go about doing just as he pleased short of altering any of the things to which I have grown accustomed.
I have known no man of genius who had not to pay, in some affliction or defect either physical or spiritual, for what the gods had given him.
Everywhere he found his precept checkmated by his example.
The Socratic manner is not a game at which two can play.
Just as "pluck" comes of breeding, so is endurance especially an attribute of the artist. Because he can stand outside himself, and (if there be nothing ignoble in them) take pleasure in his own sufferings, the artist has a huge advantage over you and me.
Of all the objects of hatred, a woman once loved is the most hateful.