Fiction is the microscope of truth.
Modesty and dew love the shade.
Eternity is so certain and so terrible that a thousand lives would not suffice to prepare for it.
Friendship, sweet-resting place of the soul, the gloaming wherein our hearts find peace.
After his blood, that which a man can next give out of himself is a tear.
Exquisite beauty resides rather in the female form than face, where it is also more lasting.