It is the way of weakened minds to see everything through a black cloud. The soul forms its own horizons; your soul is darkened, and consequently the sky of the future appears stormy and unpromising

Love is the most selfish of all the passions.

Yet man will never be perfect until he learns to create and destroy; he does know how to destroy, and that is half the battle.

Besides we are men, and after all it is our business to risk our lives.

Pure love and suspicion cannot dwell together: at the door where the latter enters, the former makes its exit.

...does that not tell you that grief is like life and that there is always somethings unknown beyond it?

You who weep for pleasures fled, While dragging on a life of care, All your woes will melt in air, If to god your tears are shed, You who Weap!