A cat's got her own opinion of human beings. She don't say much, but you can tell enough to make you anxious not to hear the whole of it.
And I am careful of my work, too. Why, some of the work that I have by me now has been in my possession for years and years, and there isn't a finger-mark on it.
At all events, this is my opinion, and as I know nothing about art, I speak without prejudice.
Everything has its drawbacks, as the man said when his mother-in-law died, and they came down upon him for the funeral expenses.
I can't sit still and see another man slaving and working. I want to get up and superintend, and walk round with my hands in my pockets, and tell him what to do.
Idleness, like kisses, to be sweet must be stolen.
If you are foolish enough to be contented, don't show it, but grumble with the rest.
If you desire to drain to the dregs the fullest cup of scorn and hatred that a fellow human being can pour out for you, let a young mother hear you call dear baby "it."
I like work; it fascinates me. I can sit and look at it for hours. I love to keep it by me. The idea of getting rid of it nearly breaks my heart.
I respect the truth too much to drag it out on every occasion.
I take a great pride in my work; I take it down now and then and dust it. No man keeps his work in a better state of preservation than I do.
It is always the best policy to speak the truth -- unless, of course, you are an exceptionally good liar.
It is impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do.
It is so pleasant to come across people more stupid than ourselves. We love them at once for being so.
I want a house that has got over all its troubles; I don't want to spend the rest of my life bringing up a young and inexperienced house.
Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need -- a homely home and simple pleasures, one or two friends worth the name, someone to love and someone to love you, a cat, a dog, and a pipe or two, enough to eat and enough to wear, and a little more than enough to drink; for thirst is a dangerous thing.
Opportunities flit by while we sit regretting the chances we have lost, and the happiness that comes to us we heed not, because of the happiness that is gone.
Our first thoughts are the thoughts that are given to us; our second thoughts are the thoughts that we make for ourselves. I prefer to trust the former.
People who have tried it, tell me that a clear conscience makes you very happy and contented; but a full stomach does the business quite as well, and is cheaper, and more easily obtained.
The shy man does have some slight revenge upon society for the torture it inflicts upon him. He is able, to a certain extent, to communicate his misery. He frightens other people as much as they frighten him. He acts like a damper upon the whole room, and the most jovial spirits become, in his presence, depressed and nervous.
When a man or woman loves to brood over a sorrow and takes care to keep it green in their memory, you may be sure it is no longer a pain to them.
You can always tell the old river hand by the way in which he stretches himself out upon the cushions at the bottom of the boat, and encourages the rowers by telling them anecdotes about the marvelous feats he performed last season.
You cannot give me too much work; to accumulate work has almost become a passion with me: my study is so full of it now, that there is hardly an inch of room for any more.
The funniest book of philosophy ever written, the most philosophical humorous book of all time. Three Men in a Boat (And yes I've read Brigid Brophy, and no, I don't care what she thinks.) And when read aloud by Ian Carmichael it becomes a treasure for the ages.