Just a quick cupper is all I have time for.

How different from the eloquence of your white handkerchiefed whiners—your ring-displaying, faultering, fawning, frothy weavers of pathetic periods—your soft, simpering saints, from whose mouths the religion of the Bible falls diluted and dulcified, like the meretricious moonlight burdens of an Irish melody!

All that we have done comes as the result of a certain insistence that since we must work it is better to work intelligently and forehandedly.

A great man must keep his heir at his feast like a living memento mori. If he holds very much by life, the presence of the other must be a constant sting and warning. “Make ready to go,” says the successor to your honour; “I am waiting: and I could hold it as well as you.”