The only authors whom I acknowledge as American are the journalists. They indeed are not great writers, but they speak the language of their countrymen, and make themselves heard by them. 

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

Language is a part of our organism and no less complicated than it.

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.

How absurd men are! They never use the liberties they have, they demand those they do not have. They have freedom of thought, they demand freedom of speech.

Under all speech that is good for anything, there lies a silence that is better. Silence is deep as eternity; speech is shallow as time.

Writing cannot express words fully; words cannot express thoughts fully.

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.

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

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

History does not merely touch on language, but takes place in it.

Speech is the mirror of the soul; as a man speaks, so is he.

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