Weaseling out of things is important to learn. It’s what separates us from the animals—except the weasel.

Animals, in their generation, are wiser than the sons of men, but their wisdom is confined to a few particulars, and lies in a very narrow compass.

Alas! We are ridiculous animals.

In every man is a wild beast; most of them don’t know how to hold it back, and the majority give it full rein when they are not restrained by terror of law.

When the eagles are silent, the parrots begin to jabber.

Man is the only animal that laughs and weeps, for he is the only animal that is struck with the difference between what things are and what they ought to be.

Animals are good to think with.

Men, my dear, are very queer animals—a mixture of horse nervousness, ass stubbornness, and camel malice.

An ape will be an ape, though clad in purple.

Animals are in possession of themselves; their soul is in possession of their body. But they have no right to their life, because they do not will it. 

Animals have these advantages over man: they never hear the clock strike, they die without any idea of death, they have no theologians to instruct them, their last moments are not disturbed by unwelcome and unpleasant ceremonies, their funerals cost them nothing, and no one starts lawsuits over their wills.

The righteous know the needs of their animals, but the mercy of the wicked is cruel.

Cows are among the gentlest of breathing creatures; none show more passionate tenderness to their young when deprived of them—and, in short, I am not ashamed to profess a deep love for these quiet creatures.