I distrust the wisdom if not the sincerity of friends, who would hold my hands while my enemies stab me.

You can't make old friends. You either have them or you don't.

Friends make pretence of following to the grave but before one is in it, their minds are turned and making the best of their way back to life and living people and things they understand.

I'm lost in the middle of my birthday. I want my friends, their touch, with the earth's last love. I will take life's final offering, I will take the last human blessing.

Compliments win friends, honesty loses them.

I have friends in overalls whose friendship I would not swap for the favor of the kings of the world.