Each man is afraid of his neighbor’s disapproval—a thing which, to the general run of the race, is more dreaded than wounds and death.

The moral sense enables one to perceive morality—and avoid it. The immoral sense enables one to perceive immorality and enjoy it.

It is not best that we use our morals week days; it gets them out of repair for Sundays.

Morals are an acquirement—like music, like a foreign language, like piety, poker, paralysis—no man is born with them.

The pitifulest thing out is a mob; that’s what an army is—a mob; they don’t fight with courage that’s born in them, but with courage that’s borrowed from their mass, and from their officers.

It is more trouble to make a maxim than it is to do right.

The noblest work of God? Man. Who found it out? Man.

Oh Death where is thy sting! It has none. But life has.

Pity is for the living, envy is for the dead.

We laugh and laugh. Then cry and cry— / Then feebler laugh, Then die.