What one reads, or rather all that comes to us, is surely only of interest and value in proportion as we find ourselves therein, -- form given to what was vague, what slumbered stirred to life.

The success or failure of a life, as far as posterity goes, seems to lie in the more or less luck of seizing the right moment of escape

The difficulty about all this dying, is that you can't tell a fellow anything about it, so where does the fun come in?

Who would ever give up the reality of dreams for relative knowledge?

You must remember that a woman, by nature, needs much less to feed upon than a man, a few emotions and she is satisfied.

Truly nothing is to be expected except for the unexpected.

Physical pain however great ends in itself and falls away like dry husks from the mind, whilst moral discords and nervous horrors sear the soul.