It is the mark of an inexperienced man not to believe in luck.

This magnificent butterfly finds a little heap of dirt and sits still on it; but man will never on his heap of mud keep still.

What all men are really after is some form, or perhaps only some formula, of peace.

Any fool can carry on, but a wise man knows how to shorten sail in time.

It is when we try to grapple with another man's intimate need that we perceive how incomprehensible, wavering, and misty are the beings that share with us the sight of the stars and the warmth of the sun.

It is my belief no man ever understands quite his own artful dodges to escape from the grim shadow of self knowledge.

This could have occurred nowhere but in England, where men and sea interpenetrate, so to speak.