O. Henry Quotes

"Maybe the hairs on my head were numbered" she went on with a sudden serious sweetness "but nobody could ever count my love for you".

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

It ain't the roads we take; it's what's inside of us that makes us turn out the way we do.

Глупаци има всякакви, но моля не ставайте, докато
не бъдете повикани поименно

Love and large-hearted giving, when added together, can leave deep marks.It is never easy to cover these marks, dear friends — never easy.

Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

Oh, I know what to do when I see victuals coming toward me in little old Bagdad-on-the-Subway. I strike the asphalt three times with my forehead and get ready to spiel yarns for my supper.

If you live in an atmosphere of luxury, luxury is yours whether your money pays for it, or another's.

And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest.

Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered,” she went on with sudden serious sweetness, “but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?

I see the game now. You can't write with ink, and you can't write with your own heart's blood, but you can write with the heart's blood of some one else. You have to be a cad before you can be an artist.

O’Henry 'The Plutonian Fire' (1905)

One dollar and eighty-seven cents.

We still say ‘the apple of the eye’ when we wish to describe something superlatively precious.

"Aurelia was still on the stoop. The moon was higher and the ivy shadows were deeper. I sat at her side and we watched a little cloud tilt at the drifting moon and go asunder quite pale and discomfited. And then, wonder of wonders and delight of delights! Our hands somehow touched, and our fingers closed together and did not part. After half an hour Aurelia said, with that smile of hers: "Do you know, you haven't spoken a word since you came back!" "That," said I, nodding wisely, "is the Voice of the City.

"Oh, come off your perch!" said the other man, who wore glasses. "Your premises won't come out in the wash. You wind-jammers who apply bandy-legged theories to concrete categorical syllogisms send logical conclusions skallybootin' into the infinitesimal ragbag. You can't pull my leg with an old sophism with whiskers on it."