In skating over thin ice our safety is in our speed.

Friendship is held to be the severest test of character. It is easy, we think, to be loyal to a family and clan, whose blood is in your own veins. Love between a man and a woman is founded on the mating instinct and is not free from desire and self-seeking. But to have a friend and to be true under any and all trials is the mark of a man!

To have doubted one's own first principles, is the mark of a civilized man.

What's in Spam? nostrils brains?and eyes intestinal linings and uteri? anything swept from the slaughterhouse floor? except the blood already out the door Spam comes from offal Spam smells... awful from murdering pigs Hormel makes Spam from butchering pigs Hormel makes ham.

Rivalry is the life of trade, and the death of the trader.

What it comes down to is that anybody can win with the best horse. What makes you good is if you can take the second or third-best horse and win.

I 'll warrant him heart-whole. -As You Like It. Act iv. Sc. 1.

It is the habitual carriage of the umbrella that is the stamp of Respectability. The umbrella has become the acknowledged index of social position. . . . Crusoe was rather a moralist than a pietist, and his leaf-umbrella is as fine an example of the civilized mind striving to express itself under adverse circumstances as we have ever met with.

And be on they guard against the good and the just! They would fain curcify those who devise their own virtue -- they hate the lonesome ones.

Love conquers all things except poverty and a toothache.

It is not death, but dying, which is terrible.

Fast-anchor'd isle.

All inquires carry with them some element of risk. There is no guarantee that the universe will conform to our predispositions.

The summer dawn's reflected hue To purple changed Lock Katrine blue, Mildly and soft the western breeze Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees, And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, Trembled but dimpled not for joy.

I have three phobias which, could I mute them, would make my life as slick as a sonnet, but as dull as ditch water: I hate to go to bed, I hate to get up, and I hate to be alone.

Fewer possess virtue, than those who wish us to believe that they possess it.

That's not a lie, it's a terminological inexactitude. Also, a tactical misrepresentation.

In science, "fact" can only mean "confirmed to such a degree that it would be perverse to withhold provisional assent." I suppose that apples might start to rise tomorrow, but the possibility does not merit equal time in physics classrooms.

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then is not an act but a habit.

If you wish another to keep your secret, first keep it to yourself.