You can't reason with the heart; it has its own laws, and thumps about things which the intellect scorns.

You can't reason with your heart; it has its own laws, and thumps about things which the intellect scorns.

When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.

But that is the way we are made: we don't reason, where we feel; we just feel.

I wish I could make him understand that a loving good heart is riches enough, and that without it intellect is poverty.

Intellectual ''work'' is misnamed; it is a pleasure, a dissipation, and is its own highest reward.