We all go through the same things - it's just a different kind of the same thing

We're all made of the same kind of stuff, and there's none of us made of stuff that's flawless.

I often think of the different ways Goethe and Darwin got at evolution. Goethe had the poetic conception of it all right; Darwin worked it out step by step. Who's ahead? And which has any business scoffing at the other?

I'm not sure I would be a good godmother. I have read about it, and I found that the godmother's position is to take care of the morals of the child. I don't know how good I would be at that.

Defeat furnishes good material to the poets and the artists, but none of us care to have the glory of the conquered apply to us.

I can't think of any sorrow in the world that a hot bath wouldn't help, just a little bit.