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Title: Quotations from the Project Gutenberg Editions of the Works of Mark Twain

Author: Mark Twain

Editor: David Widger

Release date: September 1, 2002 [eBook #3432]

Most recently updated: January 8, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3432

Credits: This etext was produced by David Widger

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK QUOTATIONS FROM THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EDITIONS OF THE WORKS OF MARK TWAIN ***

This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>

QUOTATIONS FROM THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EDITON OF THE WORKS OF MARK TWAIN

TITLES AND CONTENTS OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG TWAIN COLLECTION

The Innocents Abroad

Mark Twain's (Burlesque) Auto-biography

First Romance.

Roughing it

The Gilded Age (With Charles Dudley Warner)

Sketches New and Old

My Watch

Political Economy

The Jumping Frog

Journalism in Tennessee

The Story of the Bad Little Boy

The Story of the Good Little Boy

A Couple of Poems by Twain and Moore

Niagara

Answers to Correspondents

To Raise Poultry

Experience of the Mcwilliamses with Membranous Croup

My First Literary Venture

How the Author Was Sold in Newark

The Office Bore

Johnny Greer

The Facts in the Case of the Great Beef Contract

The Case of George Fisher

Disgraceful Persecution of a Boy

The Judges "Spirited Woman"

Information Wanted

Some Learned Fables, for Good Old Boys and Girls

My Late Senatorial Secretaryship

A Fashion Item

Riley-newspaper Correspondent

A Fine Old Man

Science Vs. Luck

The Late Benjamin Franklin

Mr. Bloke's Item

A Medieval Romance

Petition Concerning Copyright

After-dinner Speech

Lionizing Murderers

A New Crime

A Curious Dream

A True Story

The Siamese Twins

Speech at the Scottish Banquet in London

A Ghost Story

The Capitoline Venus

Speech on Accident Insurance

John Chinaman in New York

How I Edited an Agricultural Paper

The Petrified Man

My Bloody Massacre

The Undertaker's Chat

Concerning Chambermaids

Aurelia's Unfortunate Young Man

"After" Jenkins

About Barbers

"Party Cries" in Ireland

The Facts Concerning The Recant Resignation

History Repeats Itself

Honored as a Curiosity

First Interview Kith Artemus Ward

Cannibalism in The Cars

The Killing of Julius Caesar "Localized"

The Widow's Protest

The Scriptural Panoramist

Curing a Cold

A Curious Pleasure Excursion

Running for Governor

A Mysterious Visit

The Curious Republic of Gondour and Other Whimsical Sketches

The Curious Republic of Gondour

A Memory

Introductory to "Memoranda".

About Smells

A Couple of Sad Experiences

Dan Murphy

The "Tournament" in A.d. 1870

Curious Relic for Sale

A Reminiscence of The Back Settlements

A Royal Compliment

The Approaching Epidemic

The Tone-imparting Committee

Our Precious Lunatic

The European War

The Wild Man Interviewed

Last Words of Great Men

The Facts Concerning The Recent Carnival of Crime in Connecticut

Mark Twain's [Date, 1601]

Conversation as it Was by The Social Fireside in The Time of The Tudors

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

The Loves of Alonzo Fitz Clarence and Rosannah EThelton and Other Stories

The Loves of Alonzo Fitz Clarence and Rosannah Ethelton

On The Decay of The Art of Lying

About Magnanimous-incident Literature

The Grateful Poodle

The Benevolent Author

The Grateful Husband

Punch, Brothers, Punch

The Great Revolution in Pitcairn

The Canvasser's Tale

An Encounter with an Interviewer

Paris Notes

Legend of Sagenfeld, in Germany

Speech on The Babies

Speech on The Weather

Concerning The American Language

Rogers

Some Rambling Notes of an Idle Excursion

The Stolen White Elephant

A Tramp Abroad

The Prince and The Pauper

Life on The Mississippi

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court

The American Claimant

Extracts from Adam's Diary

In Defence of Harriet Shelley

Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offences

Essays on Paul Bourget

What Paul Bourget Thinks of Us

A Little Note to M. Paul Bourget

Tom Sawyer Abroad

The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson

Those Extraordinary Twins

Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc

Tom Sawyer, Detective

Following The Equator, a Journey Around The World

The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg

The Hadleyberg Other Stories

My First Lie, and How I Got out of it

The Esquimaux Maiden's Romance

Christian Science and The Book of Mrs. Eddy

Is He Living or Is He Dead?

My Debut as a Literary Person

At The Appetite-cure

Concerning The Jews

From The 'London Times' of 1904

About Play-acting

Travelling with a Reformer

Diplomatic Pay and CloThes

Luck

The Captain's Story

Stirring Times in Austria

Meisterschaft

My Boyhood Dreams

To The above Old People

In Memoriam—Olivia Susan Clemens

What Is Man and Other Essays

What Is Man?

The Death of Jean

The Turning-point of My Life

How to Make History Dates Stick

The Memorable Assassination

A Scrap of Curious History

Switzerland, The Cradle of Liberty

At The Shrine of St. Wagner

William Dean Howells

English as She Is Taught

A Simplified Alphabet

As Concerns Interpreting The Deity

Concerning Tobacco

Taming The Bicycle

Is Shakespeare Dead?

The Mysterious Stranger and Other Stories

The Mysterious Stranger

A Fable

Hunting The Deceitful Turkey

The Mcwilliamses and The Burglar Alarm

A Double Barreled Detective

A Dog's Tale

The $30,000 Bequest and Other Stories

The $30,000 Bequest

A Dog's Tale

Was it Heaven? Or Hell?

A Cure for The Blues

The Enemy Conquered; Or, Love Triumphant

The Californian's Tale

A Helpless Situation

A Telephonic Conversation

Edward Mills and George Benton: A Tale

The Five Boons of Life

The First Writing-machines

Italian Without a Master

Italian with Grammar

a Burlesque Biography

How to Tell a Story

General Washington's Negro Body-servant

Wit Inspirations of The "Two-year-olds"

An Entertaining Article

a Letter to The Secretary of The Treasury

Amended Obituaries

A Monument to Adam

A Humane Word from Satan

Introduction to "The New Guide of The

Conversation in Portuguese and English"

Advice to Little Girls

Post-mortem Poetry

The Danger of Lying in Bed

Portrait of King William Iii

Does The Race of Man Love a Lord?

Extracts from Adam's Diary

Eve's Diary

A Horse's Tale

Christian Science

Extract from Captain Stormfield's Visit to Heaven

Is Shakespeare Dead?

On The Decay of The Art of Lying

Goldsmith's Friend Abroad Again

How to Tell a Story and Other Stories

How to Tell a Story

The Wounded Soldier

The Golden Arm

Mental Telegraphy Again

The Invalids Story

Mark Twain's Speeches

Introduction

Preface

The Story of a Speech

Plymouth Rock and The Pilgrims

Compliments and Degrees

Books, Authors, and Hats

Dedication Speech

Die Schrecken Der Deutschen Sprache.

The Horrors of The German Language

German for The Hungarians

A New German Word

Unconscious Plagiarism

The WeaTher

The Babies

Our Children and Great Discoveries

Educating Theatre-goers

The Educational Theatre

Poets as Policemen

Pudd'nhead Wilson Dramatized

Daly Theatre

The Dress of Civilized Woman

Dress Reform and Copyright

College Girls

Girls

The Ladies

Woman's Press Club

Votes for Women

Woman-an Opinion

Advice to Girls

Taxes and Morals

Tammany and Croker

Municipal Corruption

Municipal Government

China and The Philippines

Theoretical and Practical Morals

Layman's Sermon

University Settlement Society

Public Education Association

Education and Citizenship

Courage

The Dinner to Mr. Choate

On Stanley and Livingstone

Henry M. Stanley

Dinner to Mr. Jerome

Henry Irving

Dinner to Hamilton W. Mabie

Introducing Nye and Riley

Dinner to Whitelaw Reid

Rogers and Railroads

The Old-fashioned Printer

Society of American Authors

Reading-room Opening

Literature

Disappearance of Literature

The New York Press Club Dinner

The Alphabet and Simplified Spelling

Spelling and Pictures

Books and Burglars

Authors' Club

Booksellers

"Mark Twain's First Appearance"

Morals and Memory

Queen Victoria

Joan of Arc

Accident Insurance—etc.

Osteopathy

Water-supply

Mistaken Identity

Cats and Candy

Obituary Poetry

Cigars and Tobacco

Billiards

The Union Right or Wrong?

An Ideal French Address

Statistics

Galveston Orphan Bazaar

San Francisco Earthquake

Charity and Actors

Russian Republic

Russian Sufferers

Watterson and Twain as Rebels

Robert Fulton Fund

Fulton Day, Jamestown

Lotos Club Dinner in Honor of Mark Twain

Copyright

In Aid of The Blind

Dr. Mark Twain, Farmeopath

Missouri University Speech

Business

Carnegie The Benefactor

On Poetry, Veracity, and Suicide

Welcome Home

An Undelivered Speech

Sixty-seventh Birthday

To The Whitefriars

The Ascot Gold Cup

The Savage Club Dinner

General Miles and The Dog

When in Doubt, Tell The Truth

The Day We Celebrate

Independence Day

Americans and The English

About London

Princeton

The St. Louis Harbor-boat "Mark Twain"

Seventieth Birthday

Mark Twain's Letters 1853-1910

Arranged with Comment by Albert Bigelow Paine

Mark Twain, a Biography, by Albert Bigelow Paine

SELECTED QUOTATIONS OF MARK TWAIN

By David Widger

Project Gutenberg has now posted over sixty of the works of Mark Twain. It is hoped that this compilation of the editor's favorite quotations will be of interest and use. All the titles may be found using the Project Gutenberg search engine. After downloading a specific file, the location and complete context of the quotations may be found by inserting a small part of the quotation into the 'Find; or 'Search' funtions of the user's word processing program.

The quotations are in two formats: 1. Small paragraphs from the text. 2. An alphabetized list of one-liners.

The editor would be pleased to be contacted at <widger@cecomet.net> for comments, questions and criticism.

D.W.

FOLLOWING THE EQUATOR, by Mark Twain [feqtr10.txt] 2895

Against nature to take an interest in familiar things

Age after age, the barren and meaningless process

All life seems to be sacred except human life

But there are liars everywhere this year

Capacity must be shown (in other work); in the law, concealment of it will do

Christmas brings harassment and dread to many excellent people

Climate which nothing can stand except rocks

Creature which was everything in general and nothing in particular

Custom supersedes all other forms of law

Death in life; death without its privileges

Every one is a moon, and has a dark side

Exercise, for such as like that kind of work

Explain the inexplicable

Faith is believing what you know ain't so

Forbids betting on a sure thing

Forgotten fact is news when it comes again

Get your formalities right—never mind about the moralities

Give thanks that Christmas comes but once a year

Good protections against temptations; but the surest is cowardice

Goody-goody puerilities and dreary moralities

Habit of assimilating incredibilities

Human pride is not worth while

Hunger is the handmaid of genius

If the man doesn't believe as we do, we say he is a crank

Inherited prejudices in favor of hoary ignorances

It is easier to stay out than get out

Man is the only animal that blushes—or needs to

Meddling philanthropists

Melt a brass door-knob and weather which will only make it mushy

Moral sense, and there is an Immoral Sense

Most satisfactory pet—never coming when he is called

Natural desire to have more of a good thing than he needs

Neglected her habits, and hadn't any

Never could tell a lie that anybody would doubt

No nation occupies a foot of land that was not stolen

No people who are quite so vulgar as the over-refined ones

Notion that he is less savage than the other savages

Only way to keep your health is to eat what you don't want

Ostentatious of his modesty

Otherwise they would have thought I was afraid, which I was

Pity is for the living, Envy is for the dead

Prosperity is the best protector of principle

Received with a large silence that suggested doubt

Seventy is old enough—after that, there is too much risk

Silent lie and a spoken one

Sinking vessel, with no freight in her to throw over

Takes your enemy and your friend, working together, to hurt you

Thankfulness is not so general

The man with a new idea is a Crank until the idea succeeds

This is a poor old ship, and ought to be insured and sunk

To a delicate stomach even imaginary smoke can convey damage

Tourists showing how things ought to be managed

Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been

HADLEYBURG AND OTHER STORIES, by Mark Twain[MT#30][mthdb10.txt]3251

Appelles meets Zenobia, the helper of all who suffer, and tells her his story, which moves her pity. By common report she is endowed with more than earthly powers; and since he cannot have the boon of death, he appeals to her to drown his memory in forgetfulness of his griefs— forgetfulness 'which is death's equivalent'.

I do not remember my first lie, it is too far back; but I remember my second one very well. I was nine days old at the time, and had noticed that if a pin was sticking in me and I advertised it in the usual fashion, I was lovingly petted and coddled and pitied in a most agreeable way and got a ration between meals besides. It was human nature to want to get these riches, and I fell. I lied about the pin—advertising one when there wasn't any. You would have done it; George Washington did it, anybody would have done it. During the first half of my life I never knew a child that was able to rise above that temptation and keep from telling that lie.

This establishment's name is Hochberghaus. It is in Bohemia, a short day's journey from Vienna, and being in the Austrian Empire is of course a health resort. The empire is made up of health resorts; it distributes health to the whole world. Its waters are all medicinal. They are bottled and sent throughout the earth; the natives themselves drink beer.

But I think I have no such prejudice. A few years ago a Jew observed to me that there was no uncourteous reference to his people in my books, and asked how it happened. It happened because the disposition was lacking. I am quite sure that (bar one) I have no race prejudices, and I think I have no colour prejudices nor caste prejudices nor creed prejudices. Indeed, I know it. I can stand any society. All that I care to know is that a man is a human being—that is enough for me; he can't be any worse.

HOW TELL A STORY AND OTHERS, by Mark Twain [MT#31][mthts10.txt]3250

There are several kinds of stories, but only one difficult kind—the humorous. I will talk mainly about that one. The humorous story is American, the comic story is English, the witty story is French. The humorous story depends for its effect upon the manner of the telling; the comic story and the witty story upon the matter.

The humorous story is strictly a work of art—high and delicate art—and only an artist can tell it; but no art is necessary in telling the comic and the witty story; anybody can do it. The art of telling a humorous story—understand, I mean by word of mouth, not print—was created in America, and has remained at home.

DEFENCE OF HARRIET SHELLEY, by Mark Twain [MT#32][mtdhs10.txt]3171

I have committed sins, of course; but I have not committed enough of them to entitle me to the punishment of reduction to the bread and water of ordinary literature during six years when I might have been living on the fat diet spread for the righteous in Professor Dowden's Life of Shelley, if I had been justly dealt with.

Yet he has been resting both for a month, with Italian, and tea, and manna of sentiment, and late hours, and every restful thing a young husband could need for the refreshment of weary limbs and a sore conscience, and a nagging sense of shabbiness and treachery.

The biographer throws off that extraordinary remark without any perceptible disturbance to his serenity; for he follows it with a sentimental justification of Shelley's conduct which has not a pang of conscience in it, but is silky and smooth and undulating and pious—a cake-walk with all the colored brethren at their best. There may be people who can read that page and keep their temper, but it is doubtful.

FENIMORE COOPER OFFENCES, by Mark Twain [MT#33][mtfco10.txt]3172

It seems to me that it was far from right for the Professor of English Literature in Yale, the Professor of English Literature in Columbia, and Wilkie Collins to deliver opinions on Cooper's literature without having read some of it. It would have been much more decorous to keep silent and let persons talk who have read Cooper.

Cooper's art has some defects. In one place in 'Deerslayer,' and in the restricted space of two-thirds of a page, Cooper has scored 114 offences against literary art out of a possible 115. It breaks the record.

I may be mistaken, but it does seem to me that Deerslayer is not a work of art in any sense; it does seem to me that it is destitute of every detail that goes to the making of a work of art; in truth, it seems to me that Deerslayer is just simply a literary delirium tremens.

ESSAYS ON PAUL BOURGET, by Mark Twain [MT#34][mtpbg10.txt]3173

Bret Harte got his California and his Californians by unconscious absorption, and put both of them into his tales alive. But when he came from the Pacific to the Atlantic and tried to do Newport life from study- conscious observation—his failure was absolutely monumental. Newport is a disastrous place for the unacclimated observer, evidently.

It is my belief that there are some "national" traits and things scattered about the world that are mere superstitions, frauds that have lived so long that they have the solid look of facts. One of them is the dogma that the French are the only chaste people in the world. Ever since I arrived in France this last time I have been accumulating doubts about that.

It would be too immodest. Also too gratuitously generous. And a shade too self-sufficient. No, he could not venture it. It would look too much like anxiety to get in at a feast where no plate had been provided for him.

A foreigner can photograph the exteriors of a nation, but I think that that is as far as he can get. I think that no foreigner can report its interior—its soul, its life, its speech, its thought. I think that a knowledge of these things is acquirable in only one way; not two or four or six [years]—absorption; years and years of unconscious absorption; years and years of intercourse with the life concerned; of living it, indeed; sharing personally in its shames and prides, its joys and griefs, its loves and hates, its prosperities and reverses, its shows and shabbinesses, its deep patriotisms, its whirlwinds of political passion, its adorations—of flag, and heroic dead, and the glory of the national name. Observation? Of what real value is it? One learns peoples through the heart, not the eyes or the intellect.

One may say the type of practical joker, for these people are exactly alike all over the world. Their equipment is always the same: a vulgar mind, a puerile wit, a cruel disposition as a rule, and always the spirit of treachery.

A DOG'S TALE, by Mark Twain [MT#35][mtdtl10.txt]3174

My father was a St. Bernard, my mother was a collie, but I am a Presbyterian. This is what my mother told me, I do not know these nice distinctions myself.

And it was the same with phrases. She would drag home a whole phrase, if it had a grand sound, and play it six nights and two matinees, and explain it a new way every time—which she had to, for all she cared for was the phrase; she wasn't interested in what it meant, and knew those dogs hadn't wit enough to catch her, anyway. Yes, she was a daisy! She got so she wasn't afraid of anything, she had such confidence in the ignorance of those creatures.

By and by came my little puppy, and then my cup was full, my happiness was perfect. It was the dearest little waddling thing, and so smooth and soft and velvety, and had such cunning little awkward paws, and such affectionate eyes, and such a sweet and innocent face; and it made me so proud to see how the children and their mother adored it, and fondled it, and exclaimed over every little wonderful thing it did. It did seem to me that life was just too lovely to—

I have watched two whole weeks, and he doesn't come up! This last week a fright has been stealing upon me. I think there is something terrible about this. I do not know what it is, but the fear makes me sick

A BURLESQUE AUTOBIOGRAPHY, by Mark Twain [MT#36][mtbbg10.txt]3175

Ours is a noble old house, and stretches a long way back into antiquity. The earliest ancestor the Twains have any record of was a friend of the family by the name of Higgins. This was in the eleventh century, when our people were living in Aberdeen, county of Cork, England. Why it is that our long line has ever since borne the maternal name (except when one of them now and then took a playful refuge in an alias to avert foolishness), instead of Higgins, is a mystery which none of us has ever felt much desire to stir. It is a kind of vague, pretty romance, and we leave it alone. All the old families do that way.

Then for the next two hundred years the family tree shows a succession of soldiers—noble, high-spirited fellows, who always went into battle singing; right behind the army, and always went out a-whooping, right ahead of it.

Charles Henry Twain lived during the latter part of the seventeenth century, and was a zealous and distinguished missionary. He converted sixteen thousand South Sea islanders, and taught them that a dog-tooth necklace and a pair of spectacles was not enough clothing to come to divine service in. His poor flock loved him very, very dearly; and when his funeral was over, they got up in a body (and came out of the restaurant) with tears in their eyes, and saying, one to another, that he was a good tender missionary, and they wished they had some more of him.

THE INNOCENTS ABROAD, by Mark Twain [MT#37][mtinn10.txt]3176

Ancient painters never succeeded in denationalizing themselves

Apocryphal New Testament

Astonishing talent for seeing things that had already passed

Bade our party a kind good-bye, and proceeded to count spoons

Base flattery to call them immoral

Bones of St Denis

But it is an ill-wind that blows nobody good

Buy the man out, goodwill and all

By dividing this statement up among eight

Carry soap with them

Chapel of the Invention of the Cross

Christopher Colombo

Clustered thick with stony, mutilated saints

Commend me to Fennimore Cooper to find beauty in the Indians

Conceived a sort of unwarrantable unfriendliness

Confer the rest of their disastrous patronage on some other firm

Creator made Italy from designs by Michael Angelo!

Cringing spirit of those great men

Diffident young man, mild of moustache, affluent of hair

Expression

Felt that it was not right to steal grapes

Fenimore Cooper Indians

Filed away among the archives of Russia—in the stove

For dismal scenery, I think Palestine must be the prince

Free from self-consciousness—which is at breakfast

Fumigation is cheaper than soap

Fun—but of a mild type

Getting rich very deliberately—very deliberately indeed

Guides

Have a prodigious quantity of mind

He never bored but he struck water

He ought to be dammed—or leveed

Holy Family always lived in grottoes

How tame a sight his country's flag is at home

I am going to try to worry along without it

I carried the sash along with me—I did not need the sash

I had a delicacy about going home and getting thrashed

I was not scared, but I was considerably agitated

Is, ah—is he dead?

It is a hopeless, dreary, heart-broken land

It is inferior—for coffee—but it is pretty fair tea

It used to be a good hotel, but that proves nothing

It was warm. It was the warmest place I ever was in

Joshua

Journals so voluminously begun

Keg of these nails—of the true cross

Lean and mean old age

Man peculiarly and insufferably self-conceited: not seasick

Marks the exact centre of the earth

Nauseous adulation of princely patrons

Never did succeed in making those idiots understand their own language

Never left any chance for newspaper controversies

Never uses a one-syllable word when he can think of a longer one

No satisfaction in being a Pope in those days

Not afraid of a million Bedouins

Not bring ourselves to think St John had two sets of ashes

Old Travelers

One is apt to overestimate beauty when it is rare

Only solitary thing one does not smell in Turkey

Oriental splendor!

Original first shoddy contract mentioned in history

Overflowing his banks

People talk so glibly of "feeling," "expression," "tone,"

Perdition catch all the guides

Picture which one ought to see once—not oftener

Polite hotel waiter who isn't an idiot

Relic matter a little overdone?

Room to turn around in, but not to swing a cat

Saviour, who seems to be of little importance any where in Rome

Self-satisfied monarch, the railroad conductor of America

Sentimental praises of the Arab's idolatry of his horse

She assumes a crushing dignity

Shepherd's Hotel, which is the worst on earth

Smell about them which is peculiar but not entertaining

Some people can not stand prosperity

Somewhat singular taste in the matter of relics

St Charles Borromeo, Bishop of Milan

St Helena, the mother of Constantine

Starving to death

Stirring times here for a while if the last trump should blow

Tahoe means grasshoppers. It means grasshopper soup

The information the ancients didn't have was very voluminous

The Last Supper

There was a good deal of sameness about it

They were like nearly all the Frenchwomen I ever saw —homely

They were seasick. And I was glad of it

Those delightful parrots who have "been here before"

To give birth to an idea

Toll the signal for the St Bartholomew's Massacre

Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness

Uncomplaining impoliteness

Under the charitable moon

Used fine tooth combs—successfully

Venitian visiting young ladies

Wandering Jew

Wasn't enough of it to make a pie

We all like to see people seasick when we are not, ourselves

Well provided with cigars and other necessaries of life

What's a fair wind for us is a head wind to them

Whichever one they get is the one they want

Who have actually forgotten their mother tongue in three months

Worth while to get tired out, because one so enjoys resting

ROUGHING IT, by Mark Twain [MT#38][mtrit10.txt]3177

Aim and object of the law and lawyers was to defeat justice

American saddle

Cayote is a living, breathing allegory of Want

Children were clothed in nothing but sunshine

Contempt of Court on the part of a horse

Feared a great deal more than the almighty

Fertile in invention and elastic in conscience

Give one's watch a good long undisturbed spell

He was nearly lightnin' on superintending

He was one of the deadest men that ever lived

Hotel clerk who was crusty and disobliging

I had never seen lightning go like that horse

Juries composed of fools and rascals

List of things which we had seen and some other people had not

Man was not a liar he only missed it by the skin of his teeth

Most impossible reminiscences sound plausible

Native canoe is an irresponsible looking contrivance

Never knew there was a hell!

Nothing that glitters is gold

Profound respect for chastity—in other people

Scenery in California requires distance

Slept, if one might call such a condition by so strong a name

Useful information and entertaining nonsense

Virtuous to the verge of eccentricity

THE GILDED AGE, by Twain and Warner [MT#39][mtgld10.txt]3178

Accidental murder resulting from justifiable insanity

Always trying to build a house by beginning at the top

Appropriation

Beautiful credit! The foundation of modern society

Believed it; because she desired to believe it

Best intentions and the frailest resolution

Big babies with beards

Cheap sentiment and high and mighty dialogue

Conscious superiority

Does your doctor know any thing

Enjoy icebergs—as scenery but not as company

Erie RR: causeway of cracked rails and cows, to the West

Fever of speculation

Final resort of the disappointed of her sex, the lecture platform

Geographical habits

Get away and find a place where he could despise himself

Gossips were soon at work

Grand old benevolent National Asylum for the Helpless

Grief that is too deep to find help in moan or groan or outcry

Haughty humility

Having no factitious weight of dignity to carry

Imagination to help his memory

Invariably advised to settle—no matter how, but settle

Invariably allowed a half for shrinkage in his statements

Is this your first visit?

It had cost something to upholster these women

Large amount of money necessary to make a small hole

Later years brought their disenchanting wisdom

Let me take your grief and help you carry it

Life a vanity and a burden, and the future but a way to death

Mail train which has never run over a cow

Meant no harm they only wanted to know

Money is most difficult to get when people need it most

Never sewed when she could avoid it. Bless her!

Nursed his woe and exalted it

Predominance of the imagination over the judgment

Question was asked and answered—in their eyes

Riches enough to be able to gratify reasonable desires

Road, which did not seem to know its own mind exactly

Sarcasms of fate

Sleep that heals all heart-aches and ends all sorrows

Small gossip stood a very poor chance

Sun bothers along over the Atlantic

Think a Congress of ours could convict the devil of anything

Titles never die in America

Too much grace and too little wine

Understood the virtues of "addition, division and silence"

Unlimited reliance upon human promises

Very pleasant man if you were not in his way

Wasn't worth a cent two years ago, and now I owe two millions

"We must create, a public opinion," said Senator Dilworthy

We'll make you think you never was at home before

We've all got to come to it at last, anyway!

Widened, and deepened, and straightened—(Public river Project)

Wished that she could see his sufferings now

Your absence when you are present

THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT, by Mark Twain [MT#40][mtacl10.txt]3179

He's a kind of an aristocrat, his father being a doctor, and you know what style that is—in England, I mean, because in this country a doctor ain't so very much, even if he's that.

Hasn't any culture but the artificial culture of books, which adorns but doesn't really educate.

A discriminating irreverence is the creator and protector of human liberty.

The exercise of an extraordinary gift is the supremest pleasure in life.

Oh, just to work—that is life! No matter what the work is—that's of no consequence. Just work itself is bliss when a man's been starving for it.

What right has Goethe, what right has Arnold, what right has any dictionary, to define the word Irreverence for me? What their ideals are is nothing to me. So long as I reverence my own ideals my whole duty is done, and I commit no profanation if I laugh at theirs. I may scoff at other people's ideals as much as I want to. It is my right and my privilege. No man has any right to deny it.

No throne was ever set up by the unhampered vote of a majority of any nation; and that hence no throne exists that has a right to exist, and no symbol of it, flying from any flagstaff, is righteously entitled to wear any device but the skull and crossbones of that kindred industry which differs from royalty only business-wise—merely as retail differs from wholesale.

DOUBLE BARRELLED DETECTIVE, by Mark Twain [MT#41][mtdbd10.txt]3180

"We ought never to do wrong when people are looking."

"The regularest man that ever was," said Jake Parker, the blacksmith: "you can tell when it's twelve just by him leaving, without looking at your Waterbury."

The sheriff that lets a mob take a prisoner away from him is the lowest- down coward there is. By the statistics there was a hundred and eighty- two of them drawing sneak pay in America last year. By the way it's going, pretty soon there 'll be a new disease in the doctor-books— sheriff complaint." That idea pleased him—any one could see it. "People will say, 'Sheriff sick again?' 'Yes; got the same old thing.' And next there 'll be a new title. People won't say, 'He's running for sheriff of Rapaho County,' for instance; they'll say, 'He's running for Coward of Rapaho.' Lord, the idea of a grown-up person being afraid of a lynch mob!"

THE STOLEN WHITE ELEPHANT, by Mark Twain [MT#42][mtswe10.txt]3181

Left out of A Tramp Abroad, because it was feared that some of the particulars had been exaggerated, and that others were not true. Before these suspicions had been proven groundless, the book had gone to press. —M. T.]

"Well, as to what he eats—he will eat anything. He will eat a man, he will eat a Bible—he will eat anything between a man and a Bible."—"Good very good, indeed, but too general. Details are necessary—details are the only valuable things in our trade. Very well—as to men. At one meal—or, if you prefer, during one day—how man men will he eat, if fresh?"—"He would not care whether they were fresh or not; at a single meal he would eat five ordinary men.

Elephant arrived here from the south and passed through toward the forest at 11.50, dispersing a funeral on the way, and diminishing the mourners by two.

RAMBLING IDLE EXCURSION, by Mark Twain [MT#43][mtrid10.txt]3182

Straight roads reveal everything at a glance and kill interest.

All the journeyings I had ever done had been purely in the way of business. The pleasant May weather suggested a novelty namely, a trip for pure recreation, the bread-and-butter element left out. The Reverend said he would go, too; a good man, one of the best of men, although a clergyman.

We went ashore and found a novelty of a pleasant nature: there were no hackmen, hacks, or omnibuses on the pier or about it anywhere, and nobody offered his services to us, or molested us in any way. I said it was like being in heaven. The Reverend rebukingly and rather pointedly advised me to make the most of it, then.

There's cats around here with names that would surprise you. "Maria" (to his wife), "what was that cat's name that eat a keg of ratsbane by mistake over at Hooper's, and started home and got struck by lightning and took the blind staggers and fell in the well and was 'most drowned before they could fish him out?"—"That was that colored Deacon Jackson's cat. I only remember the last end of its name, which was Hold-The-Fort- For-I-Am-Coming Jackson."

CARNIVAL OF CRIME IN CT., by Mark Twain [MT#44][mtccc10.txt]3183

Yes, but you did; you lied to him."—I felt a guilty pang—in truth, I had felt it forty times before that tramp had traveled a block from my door—but still I resolved to make a show of feeling slandered; so I said: "This is a baseless impertinence. I said to the tramp—"— "There—wait. You were about to lie again. I know what you said to him. You said the cook was gone down-town and there was nothing left from breakfast. Two lies. You knew the cook was behind the door, and plenty of provisions behind her."

I never did a thing in all my life, virtuous or otherwise, that I didn't repent of in twenty-four hours.

In conclusion, I wish to state, by way of advertisement, that medical colleges desiring assorted tramps for scientific purposes, either by the gross, by cord measurement, or per ton, will do well to examine the lot in my cellar before purchasing elsewhere, as these were all selected and prepared by myself, and can be had at a low rate; because I wish to clear, out my stock and get ready for the spring trade.

ALONZO FITZ AND OTHERS, by Mark Twain [MT#45][mtlaf10.txt]3184

It was well along in the forenoon of a bitter winter's day. The town of Eastport, in the state of Maine, lay buried under a deep snow that was newly fallen. The customary bustle in the streets was wanting. One could look long distances down them and see nothing but a dead-white emptiness, with silence to match. Of course I do not mean that you could see the silence—no, you could only hear it.

"That clock's wrong again. That clock hardly ever knows what time it is; and when it does know, it lies about it—which amounts to the same thing. Alfred!"

THOSE EXTRAORDINARY TWINS, by Mark Twain [MT#46][mtext10.txt]3185

A man who is born with the novel-writing gift has a troublesome time of it when he tries to build a novel. I know this from experience. He has no clear idea of his story; in fact he has no story. He merely has some people in his mind, and an incident or two, also a locality. He knows these people, he knows the selected locality, and he trusts that he can plunge those people into those incidents with interesting results. So he goes to work. To write a novel? No—that is a thought which comes later; in the beginning he is only proposing to tell a little tale; a very little tale; a six-page tale. But as it is a tale which he is not acquainted with, and can only find out what it is by listening as it goes along telling itself, it is more than apt to go on and on and on till it spreads itself into a book. I know about this, because it has happened to me so many times.

I didn't know what to do with her. I was as sorry for her as anybody could be, but the campaign was over, the book was finished, she was sidetracked, and there was no possible way of crowding her in, anywhere. I could not leave her there, of course; it would not do. After spreading her out so, and making such a to-do over her affairs, it would be absolutely necessary to account to the reader for her. I thought and thought and studied and studied; but I arrived at nothing. I finally saw plainly that there was really no way but one—I must simply give her the grand bounce. It grieved me to do it, for after associating with her so much I had come to kind of like her after a fashion, notwithstanding she was such an ass and said such stupid irritating things and was so nauseatingly sentimental. Still it had to be done. So, at the top of Chapter XVII, I put in a "Calendar" remark concerning July Fourth, and began the chapter with this statistic: "Rowena went out in the back yard after supper to see the fireworks and fell down the well and got drowned." It seemed abrupt, but I thought maybe the reader wouldn't notice it, because I changed the subject right away to something else.

THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER, by Mark Twain [MT#47][mtmst10.txt]3186

It was in 1590—winter. Austria was far away from the world, and asleep; it was still the Middle Ages in Austria, and promised to remain so forever. Some even set it away back centuries upon centuries and said that by the mental and spiritual clock it was still the Age of Belief in Austria. But they meant it as a compliment, not a slur, and it was so taken, and we were all proud of it. I remember it well, although I was only a boy; and I remember, too, the pleasure it gave me.

When we were finishing our house, we found we had a little cash left over, on account of the plumber not knowing it.

I will explain that whenever I want a thing, and Mrs. McWilliams wants another thing, and we decide upon the thing that Mrs. McWilliams wants— as we always do—she calls that a compromise.

What an ass you are!" he said. "Are you so unobservant as not to have found out that sanity and happiness are an impossible combination? No sane man can be happy, for to him life is real, and he sees what a fearful thing it is. Only the mad can be happy, and not many of those. The few that imagine themselves kings or gods are happy, the rest are no happier than the sane. Of course, no man is entirely in his right mind at any time, but I have been referring to the extreme cases.

"Now there is the history of that burglar alarm—everything just as it happened; nothing extenuated, and naught set down in malice. Yes, sir,— and when I had slept nine years with burglars, and maintained an expensive burglar alarm the whole time, for their protection, not mine, and at my sole cost—for not a d—-d cent could I ever get THEM to contribute—I just said to Mrs. McWilliams that I had had enough of that kind of pie; so with her full consent I took the whole thing out and traded it off for a dog, and shot the dog.

CHRISTIAN SCIENCE, by Mark Twain [MT#48][mtcsc10.txt]3187

This last summer, when I was on my way back to Vienna from the Appetite- Cure in the mountains, I fell over a cliff in the twilight, and broke some arms and legs and one thing or another, and by good luck was found by some peasants who had lost an ass, and they carried me to the nearest habitation, which was one of those large, low, thatch-roofed farm-houses, with apartments in the garret for the family, and a cunning little porch under the deep gable decorated with boxes of bright colored flowers and cats; on the ground floor a large and light sitting-room, separated from the milch-cattle apartment by a partition; and in the front yard rose stately and fine the wealth and pride of the house, the manure-pile. That sentence is Germanic, and shows that I am acquiring that sort of mastery of the art and spirit of the language which enables a man to travel all day in one sentence without changing cars.

"I do not understand it. I believe she has not diagnosed the case with sufficient care. Did she look like a person who was theorizing, or did she look like one who has fallen off precipices herself and brings to the aid of abstract science the confirmations of personal experience?"— "Bitte?" —It was too large a contract for the Stubenmadchen's vocabulary; she couldn't call the hand. I allowed the subject to rest there, and asked for something to eat and smoke, and something hot to drink, and a basket to pile my legs in; but I could not have any of these things.

Does she seem to be in full and functionable possession of her intellectual plant, such as it is?"—"Bitte?"—"Do they let her run at large, or do they tie her up?"

MARK TWAIN'S SPEECHES, by Mark Twain [MT#49][mtmts10.txt]3188

A little pride always goes along with a teaspoonful of brains

Ain't any real difference between triplets and an insurrection

Chastity, you can carry it too far

Classic: everybody wants to have read and nobody wants to read

Don't know anything and can't do anything

Dwell on the particulars with senile rapture

Future great historian is lying—and doubtless will continue to

Head is full of history, and some of it is true, too

Humor enlivens and enlightens his morality

I shall never be as dead again as I was then

If can't make seventy by any but an uncomfortable road: don't go

Kill a lot of poets for writing about "Beautiful Spring"

Live upon the property of their heirs so long

Morality is all the better for his humor

Morals: rather teach them than practice them any day

Never been in jail, and the other is, I don't know why

Never to smoke when asleep, and never to refrain when awake

Patriotism is usually the refuge of the scoundrel

Please state what figure you hold him at—and return the basket

Principles is another name for prejudices

She bears our children—ours as a general thing

Some civilized women would lose half their charm without dress

The Essex band done the best it could

Time-expired man, to use Kipling's military phrase

To exaggerate is the only way I can approximate to the truth

Two kinds of Christian morals, one private and the other public

What, sir, would the people of the earth be without woman?

When in doubt, tell the truth

Women always want to know what is going on

SKETCHES NEW AND OLD, by Mark Twain [MT#50][mtsno10.txt]3189

A wood-fire is not a permanent thing

Accessory before the fact to his own murder

Aggregate to positive unhappiness

Always brought in 'not guilty'

Apocryphal was no slouch of a word, emanating from the source

Assertion is not proof

Early to bed and early to rise

I am useless and a nuisance, a cumberer of the earth

I never was so scared before and survived it

If I had sprung a leak now I had been lost

Just about cats enough for three apiece all around

Looked a look of vicious happiness

Lucid and unintoxicated intervals

No matter how absurd and unreasonable their demands

No public can withstand magnanimity

Not because I was afraid, but because I wanted to (go out the window)

Permanent reliable enemy

Science only needed a spoonful of supposition to build a mountain

State of mind bordering on impatience

Walking five miles to fish

Was a good deal annoyed when it appeared he was going to die

1601, by Mark Twain [MT#51][mtsxn10.txt]3190

But suppose a literary artist ventured to go into a painstaking and elaborate description of one of these grisly things—the critics would skin him alive. Well, let it go, it cannot be helped; Art retains her privileges, Literature has lost hers. Somebody else may cipher out the whys and the wherefores and the consistencies of it—I haven't got time."

Albert Bigelow Paine, Mark Twain's biographer, likewise acknowledged its greatness, when he said, "1601 is a genuine classic, as classics of that sort go. It is better than the gross obscenities of Rabelais, and perhaps in some day to come, the taste that justified Gargantua and the Decameron will give this literary refugee shelter and setting among the more conventional writing of Mark Twain. Human taste is a curious thing; delicacy is purely a matter of environment and point of view."

Suppose Sir Walter [Scott] instead of putting the conversation into the mouths of his characters, had allowed the characters to speak for themselves? We should have had talk from Rebecca and Ivanhoe and the soft lady Rowena which would embarrass a tramp in our day. However, to the unconsciously indelicate all things are delicate."

GOLDSMITH'S FRIEND ABROAD AGAIN, by Twain [MT#52][mtgfa10.txt]3191

No experience is set down in the following letters which had to be invented. Fancy is not needed to give variety to the history of a Chinaman's sojourn in America. Plain fact is amply sufficient.

DEAR CHING-FOO: It is all settled, and I am to leave my oppressed and overburdened native land and cross the sea to that noble realm where all are free and all equal, and none reviled or abused—America!

But he said, wait a minute—I must be vaccinated to prevent my taking the small-pox. I smiled and said I had already had the small-pox, as he could see by the marks, and so I need not wait to be "vaccinated," as he called it. But he said it was the law, and I must be vaccinated anyhow. The doctor would never let me pass, for the law obliged him to vaccinate all Chinamen and charge them ten dollars apiece for it, and I might be sure that no doctor who would be the servant of that law would let a fee slip through his fingers to accommodate any absurd fool who had seen fit to have the disease in some other country.

And I grew still more uneasy, when I found that any succored and befriended refugee from Ireland or elsewhere could stand up before that judge and swear, away the life or liberty or character of a refugee from China; but that by the law of the land the Chinaman could not testify against the Irishman.

CURIOUS REPUBLIC OF GONDOUR, by Mark Twain [MT#53][mtcrg10.txt]3192

I found that the nation had at first tried universal suffrage pure and simple, but had thrown that form aside because the result was not satisfactory. It had seemed to deliver all power into the hands of the ignorant and non-tax-paying classes; and of a necessity the responsible offices were filled from these classes also.

That last—and saddest evidence of intellectual poverty, the Pun.

Mrs. Murphy jumped to the conclusion that it would only cost two or three dollars to embalm her dead husband, and so she telegraphed "Yes." It was at the "wake" that the bill for embalming arrived and was presented to the widow. She uttered a wild, sad wail, that pierced every heart, and said: "Sivinty-foive dollars for stoofhn' Dan, blister their sowls! Did thim divils suppose I was goin' to stairt a Museim, that I'd be dalin' in such expinsive curiassities!"

I kind of dodged, and the boot-jack broke the looking-glass. I could have waited to see what became of the other missiles if I had wanted to, but I took no interest in such things.

TWAIN'S LETTERS V1 1835-1866 by A. B. Paine[MT#54][mt1lt10.txt]3193

A mighty national menace to sham

All talk and no cider

Condition my room is always in when you are not around

Deprived of the soothing consolation of swearing

Frankness is a jewel; only the young can afford it

Genius defies the laws of perspective

Hope deferred maketh the heart sick

I never greatly envied anybody but the dead

In the long analysis of the ages it is the truth that counts

Just about enough cats to go round

Moral bulwark reared against hypocrisy and superstition

The coveted estate of silence, time's only absolute gift

We went outside to keep from getting wet

What a pleasure there is in revenge!

When in doubt, tell the truth

When it is my turn, I don't

TWAIN'S LETTERS V2 1867-1875 by A. B. Paine[MT#55][mt2lt10.txt]3194

DEAR REDPATH,—I wish you would get me released from the lecture at Buffalo. I mortally hate that society there, and I don't doubt they hired me. I once gave them a packed house free of charge, and they never even had the common politeness to thank me. They left me to shift for myself, too, a la Bret Harte at Harvard. Get me rid of Buffalo! Otherwise I'll have no recourse left but to get sick the day I lecture there. I can get sick easy enough.

I send you No. 5 today. I have written and re-written the first half of it three different times, yesterday and today, and at last Mrs. Clemens says it will do. I never saw a woman so hard to please about things she doesn't know anything about. Yours ever, MARK.

This is the place to get a poor opinion of everybody in. There isn't one man in Washington, in civil office, who has the brains of Anson Burlingame—and I suppose if China had not seized and saved his great talents to the world, this government would have discarded him when his time was up. There are more pitiful intellects in this Congress! Oh, geeminy! There are few of them that I find pleasant enough company to visit. I am most infernally tired of Wash. and its "attractions." To be busy is a man's only happiness—and I am—otherwise I should die Yrs. aff. SAM.

TWAIN'S LETTERS V3 1876-1885 by A. B. Paine[MT#56][mt3lt10.txt]3195

It is interesting to note that in thanking Clemens for his compliment Howells wrote: "What people cannot see is that I analyze as little as possible; they go on talking about the analytical school, which I am supposed to belong to, and I want to thank you for using your eyes….. Did you ever read De Foe's 'Roxana'? If not, then read it, not merely for some of the deepest insights into the lying, suffering, sinning, well-meaning human soul, but for the best and most natural English that a book was ever written in."

Pray offer my most sincere and respectful approval to the President—is approval the proper word? I find it is the one I most value here in the household and seldomest get.

In the same letter he suggests to his brother that he undertake an absolutely truthful autobiography, a confession in which nothing is to be withheld. He cites the value of Casanova's memories, and the confessions of Rousseau.

And I say this also: He that waiteth for all men to be satisfied with his plan, let him seek eternal life, for he shall need it.

Well-good-bye, and a short life and a merry one be yours. Poor old

Methusaleh, how did he manage to stand it so long?

You are assisted in your damaging work by the tyrannous ways of a village— villagers watch each other and so make cowards of each other.

TWAIN'S LETTERS V4 1886-1900 by A. B. Paine[MT#57][mt4lt10.txt]3196

And I have been an author for 20 years and an ass for 55

Argument against suicide

Conversationally being yelled at

Dead people who go through the motions of life

Die in the promptest kind of a way and no fooling around

Heroic endurance that resembles contentment

Honest men must be pretty scarce

I wonder how they can lie so. It comes of practice, no doubt

If this is going to be too much trouble to you

One should be gentle with the ignorant

Sunday is the only day that brings unbearable leisure

Symbol of the human race ought to be an ax

What a pity it is that one's adventures never happen!

TWAIN'S LETTERS V5 1901-1906 by A. B. Paine[MT#58][mt5lt10.txt]3197

I have seen that iceberg thirty-four times in thirty-seven voyages; it is always the same shape, it is always the same size, it always throws up the same old flash when the sun strikes it; you may set it on any New York door-step of a June morning and light it up with a mirror-flash; and I will engage to recognize it. It is artificial, and it is provided and anchored out by the steamer companies. I used to like the sea, but I was young then, and could easily get excited over any kind of monotony, and keep it up till the monotonies ran out, if it was a fortnight.

It vexes me to catch myself praising the clean private citizen Roosevelt, and blaming the soiled President Roosevelt, when I know that neither praise nor blame is due to him for any thought or word or deed of his, he being merely a helpless and irresponsible coffee-mill ground by the hand of God.

It was a presidential year and the air was thick with politics. Mark Twain was no longer actively interested in the political situation; he was only disheartened by the hollowness and pretense of office-seeking, and the methods of office-seekers in general.

Shall we ever laugh again? If I could only see a dog that I knew in the old times! and could put my arms around his neck and tell him all, everything, and ease my heart. Think—in 3 hours it will be a week!—and soon a month; and by and by a year. How fast our dead fly from us.

Aldrich was here half an hour ago, like a breeze from over the fields, with the fragrance still upon his spirit. I am tired of waiting for that man to get old.

When a man is a pessimist before 48 he knows too much; if he is an optimist after it, he knows too little.

TWAIN'S LETTERS V6 1907-1910 by A. B. Paine[MT#59][mt6lt10.txt]3198

That doctor had half an idea that there is something the matter with my brain. . . Doctors do know so little and they do charge so much for it.

You ought not to say sarcastic things about my "fighting on the other side." General Grant did not act like that. General Grant paid me compliments. He bracketed me with Zenophon—it is there in his Memoirs for anybody to read. He said if all the confederate soldiers had followed my example and adopted my military arts he could never have caught enough of them in a bunch to inconvenience the Rebellion. General Grant was a fair man, and recognized my worth; but you are prejudiced, and you have hurt my feelings.

DEAR HOWELLS,—I have to write a line, lazy as I am, to say how your Poe article delighted me; and to say that I am in agreement with substantially all you say about his literature. To me his prose is unreadable—like Jane Austin's. No, there is a difference. I could read his prose on salary, but not Jane's. Jane is entirely impossible. It seems a great pity that they allowed her to die a natural death.

COMPLETE LETTERS OF MARK TWAIN, by Paine [MT#60][mtclt10.txt]3199

That doctor had half an idea that there is something the matter with my brain. . . Doctors do know so little and they do charge so much for it.

Shall we ever laugh again? If I could only see a dog that I knew in the old times! and could put my arms around his neck and tell him all, everything, and ease my heart. Think—in 3 hours it will be a week!—and soon a month; and by and by a year. How fast our dead fly from us.

I used to like the sea, but I was young then, and could easily get excited over any kind of monotony, and keep it up till the monotonies ran out.

And I say this also: He that waiteth for all men to be satisfied with his plan, let him seek eternal life, for he shall need it.

Well-good-bye, and a short life and a merry one be yours. Poor old

Methusaleh, how did he manage to stand it so long?

You are assisted in your damaging work by the tyrannous ways of a village— villagers watch each other and so make cowards of each other.

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