Wit is a treacherous dart. It is perhaps the only weapon with which it is possible to stab oneself in one's own back.

Travel by sea nearly approximates the bliss of babyhood. They feed you, rock you gently to sleep and when you wake up, they take care of you and feed you again.

Wit is the clash and reconcilement of incongruities; the meeting of extremes round a corner.

At 20 years of age the will reigns; at 30, the wit; at 40, the judgment.

Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.

Wit, like money, bears an extra value when rung down immediately it is wanted. Men pay severely who require credit.