Every man makes his own summer. The season has no character of its own, unless one is a farmer with a professional concern for the weather.

I saw corpses, and grew used to their unimportant look, for a dead man without any of the panoply of death is a desperately insignificant object.

Nobody who looks as though he enjoyed life is ever called distinguished, though he is a man in a million.

Women tell men things that men are not very likely to find out for themselves.