Language is the armory of the human mind and at once contains the trophies of its past and the weapons of its future conquests. 

Every man is surrounded by a neighborhood of voluntary spies.

Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.

Unexemplary words and unfounded doctrines are avoided by the noble person. Why utter them?

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

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 live by good soup, and not on fine language.

Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height.

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.

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

It is a luxury to be understood.

Newspapers always excite curiosity. No one ever lays one down without a feeling of disappointment.

Speak and speed; the close mouth catches no flies.