A good newspaper, I suppose, is a nation talking to itself.

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.

My language is the common prostitute that I turn into a virgin.

Methinks the human method of expression by sound of tongue is very elementary and ought to be substituted for some ingenious invention which should be able to give vent to at least six coherent sentences at once.

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

Anyone who doesn’t know foreign languages knows nothing of his own.

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

The chief merit of language is clearness, and we know that nothing detracts so much from this as do unfamiliar terms.

Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands, and goes to work.

Man is the one name belonging to every nation upon earth: there is one soul and many tongues, one spirit and various sounds; every country has its own speech, but the subjects of speech are common to all.

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

Words pay no debts.

It is a luxury to be understood.