John Oliver Hobbes

A quart of doubt to an ounce of truth is the safest brew.

All forced virtue is degrading in its effect.

If the gods have no sense of humour they must weep a great deal.

Talking to you...is only thinking to myself—made easier.

"A man's way of loving is so different from a woman's," sighed Anna. "There ain't nothing," said Mrs. Grimmage, "there ain't nothing that makes them so sulky and turns them against you so soon as saying anything like that."

All is vanity,...discovering it—the greatest vanity.

... love comes to man through his senses—to woman through her imagination.

Men heap together the mistakes of their lives and create a monster which they call Destiny.

... he fell a too ready victim to circumstances: he helped to build the altar for his own sacrifice.

"Ah," said that gentleman, ever ready to discuss one friend with another—in fact, it was chiefly for this pleasure that he made them...

He did not speak again till just before he died, when he kissed his wife’s hand with singular tenderness and called her "Elizabeth." She had been christened Augusta Frederica; but then, as the doctors explained, dying men often make these …

He longed to make a mark, or, to express it more vulgarly, cut a figure. Now, fortunately or unfortunately, the number of figures which can be cut in the world is practically unlimited; the only difficulty is to cut precisely the kind of …

Reader. But where are the Unities? Author. In life there are no Unities, but three Incomprehensibles: Destiny, Man, and Woman.

... there was never a woman so ill-suited to public life as I am. I have had to whip myself, as it were, into society, and the loneliness of it all has been terrific.

There is no misery quite so wearing as the misery of a false position. It seems to slay the body and the soul.

People get to like a soul, but a satisfactory hat makes an impression at first sight.

We must know the measure of a man's desires before we can sound the depth of his regrets.

A statesman's words, like butcher's meat, should be well weighed.

Ideals, my dear Golightly, are the root of every evil. When a man forgets his ideals he may hope for happiness, but not till then.