Lovers of the town have been content, for the most part, to say they loved it. They do not brag about its uplifting qualities. They have none of the infernal smugness which makes the lover of the country insupportable. — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
The dog is guided by kindly instinct to the man or woman whose heart is open to his advances. The cat often leaves the… — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
Letter-writing on the part of a busy man or woman is the quintessence of generosity. — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
To have given pleasure to one human being is a recollection that sweetens life. — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
Believers in political faith-healing enjoy a supreme immunity from doubt. — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
Philadelphians are every whit as mediocre as their neighbors, but they seldom encourage each other in mediocrity by giving it a more agreeable name. — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
When the milk of human kindness turns sour, it is a singularly unpalatable draught. — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
Conversation in its happiest development is a link, equally exquisite and adequate, between mind and mind, a system by which men approach one another… — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
What monstrous absurdities and paradoxes have resisted whole batteries of serious arguments, and then crumbled swiftly into dust before the ringing death-knell of a… — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
the labors of the true critic are more essential to the author, even, than to the reader. — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and… — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
Our dogs will love and admire the meanest of us, and feed our colossal vanity with their uncritical homage. — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
Erudition, like a bloodhound, is a charming thing when held firmly in leash, but it is not so attractive when turned loose upon a… — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
There was no escape from the letter-writer who, a hundred or a hundred and twenty-five years ago, captured a coveted correspondent. It would have… — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
Sleep sweetly in the fields of asphodel, and waken, as of old, to stretch thy languid length, and purr thy soft contentment to the… — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
In the stress of modern life, how little room is left for that most comfortable vanity that whispers in our ears that failures are… — Agnes Repplier Copy Share Image
