A sick man that gets talking about himself, a woman that gets talking about her baby, and an author that begins reading out of his own book, never know when to stop.

Society is always trying in some way or other to grind us down to a single flat surface.

Talking is like playing on the harp; there is as much in laying the hand on the strings to stop their vibrations as in twanging them to bring out their music.

Nobody talks much that doesn't say unwise things-things he did not mean to say; as no person plays much without striking a false note sometimes.

A poet on Pegasus, reciting his own verses, is hardly more to be dreaded than a mounted specialist.

One has to dismount from an idea, and get into the saddle again, at every parenthesis.

Nothing is so frequent as to mistake an ordinary human gift for a special and extraordinary endowment.

There is one disadvantage which the man of philosophical habits of mind suffers, as compared with the man of action. While he is taking an enlarged and rational view of the matter before him, he lets his chance slip through his fingers.

We find it hard to get and to keep any private property in thought. Other people are all the time saying the same things we are hoarding to say when we get ready.

Every real thought on every real subject knocks the wind out of somebody or other.