Ah, God! what trances of torments does that man endure who is consumed with one unachieved revengeful desire. He sleeps with clenched hands; and wakes with his own bloody nails in his palms.
A smile is the chosen vehicle of all ambiguities.
A noble craft, but somehow a most melancholy! All noble things are touched with that.
A man thinks that by mouthing hard words he understands hard things.
A laugh’s the wisest, easiest answer to all that’s queer.
A good laugh is a mighty good thing, and rather too scarce a good thing; the more’s the pity.