There is nothing good in this world which time does not improve.
If you wish to preserve your secret, wrap it up in frankness.
Style, after all, rather than thought, is the immortal thing in literature.
A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the road.
Happiness never lays its finger on its pulse. If we attempt to steal a glimpse of its features it disappears.
Everything is sweetened by risk.