What a glut of books! Who can read them? As already, we shall have a vast chaos and confusion of books; we are oppressed with them, our eyes ache with reading, our fingers with turning.

I have often repented speaking, but never of holding my tongue.

When action grows unprofitable, gather information; when information grows unprofitable, sleep.

I sometimes think of what future historians will say of us. A single sentence will suffice for modern man: he fornicated and read the papers.

Language is the house of being. In its home human beings dwell. Those who think and those who create with words are the guardians of this home.

The gift of a common tongue is a priceless inheritance and it may well some day become the foundation of a common citizenship.

In the case of news, we should always wait for the sacrament of confirmation.

Do not the most moving moments of our lives find us all without words?

I am always sorry when any language is lost, because languages are the pedigrees of nations.

God never sent a messenger save with the language of his folk, that he might make the message clear for them.

No one gossips about other people’s secret virtues.

It is difficult for a woman to define her feelings in language which is chiefly made by men to express theirs.

Language ought to be the joint creation of poets and manual workers.