Mark Twain, pen name of Samuel Langhorne Clemens

Mark
Twain, pen name of Samuel Langhorne Clemens
1835
1910

American Writer, Humorist

Author Quotes

Good judgment comes from experience. And where does experience come from? Experience comes from bad judgment.

If a person offends you, and you are in doubt as to whether it was intentional or not, do not resort to extreme measures; simply watch your chance, and hit him with a brick.

If all men knew what each said of the other, there would not be four friends in the world.

If all the fools in this world should die, lordly God how lonely I should be.

If animals could speak the dog would be a a blundering outspoken fellow, but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much.

If books are not good company, where shall I find it?

If Christ were here there is one thing he would not be -- a Christian.

If everyone was satisfied with himself, there would be no heroes.

If a cat sits on a hot stove, that cat won't sit on a hot stove again. That cat won't sit on a cold stove either. That cat just don't like stoves.

I like a good story well told. That is the reason I am sometimes forced to tell them myself.

I reckon I got to light out for the Territory ahead of the rest, because Aunt Sally she's going to adopt me and sivilize me, and I can't stand it. I been there before.

I thought tamarinds were made to eat, but that was probably not the idea. I ate several, and it seemed to me that they were rather sour that year. They pursed up my lips, till they resembled the stem-end of a tomato, and I had to take my sustenance through a quill for twenty-four hours. They sharpened my teeth till I could have shaved with them, and gave them a 'wire edge' that I was afraid would stay; but a citizen said 'no, it will come off when the enamel does' ? which was comforting, at any rate. I found, afterward, that only strangers eat tamarinds ? but they only eat them once.

I was young and foolish then; now I am old and foolisher.

I like criticism, but it must be my way.

I reckon the widow or the parson or somebody prayed that this bread would find me, and here it have gone and done it. So there ain't no doubt but there is something in that thing. That is, there's something in it when a body like the widow or the parson prays, but it don't work for me, and I reckon it don't work for only just the right kind.

I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a trembling, because I'd got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself: 'All right, then, I'll go to Hell'--and tore it up - Huckleberry Finn.

I went to Maui to stay a week and remained five. I never spent so pleasant a month before, or bade any place goodbye so regretfully. I have not once thought of business, or care or human toil or trouble or sorrow or weariness, and the memory of it will remain with me always.

I like Joan of Arc best of all my books; and it is the best; I know it perfectly well. And besides, it furnished me seven times the pleasure afforded me by any of the others; twelve years of preparation, and two years of writing. The others need no preparation and got none.

I refused to attend his funeral. But I wrote a very nice letter explaining that I approved of it.

I used to worship the mighty genius of Michael Angelo ? that man who was great in poetry, painting, sculpture, architecture ? great in everything he undertook. But I do not want Michael Angelo for breakfast ? for luncheon ? for dinner ? for tea ? for supper ? for between meals. I like a change, occasionally.

I wish Europe would let Russia annihilate Turkey a little--not much, but enough to make it difficult to find the place again without a divining-rod or a diving-bell.

I lost Susy thirteen years ago; I lost her mother--her incomparable mother!--five and a half years ago; Clara has gone away to live in Europe and now I have lost Jean. How poor I am, who was once so rich! . . . Jean lies yonder, I sit here; we are strangers under our own roof; we kissed hands good-by at this door last night--and it was forever, we never suspecting it. She lies there, and I sit here--writing, busying myself, to keep my heart from breaking. How dazzling the sunshine is flooding the hills around! It is like a mockery. Seventy-four years ago twenty-four days. Seventy-four years old yesterday. Who can estimate my age today?

I said nothing of the sort.

I waked that I judged it was after eight o'clock. I laid there in the grass and the cool shade thinking about things, and feeling rested and ruther comfortable and satisfied. I could see the sun out at one or two holes, but mostly it was big trees all about, and gloomy in

I wish I could make him understand that a loving good heart is riches enough, and that without it intellect is poverty.

Author Picture
First Name
Mark
Last Name
Twain, pen name of Samuel Langhorne Clemens
Birth Date
1835
Death Date
1910
Bio

American Writer, Humorist