Every perfect action is accompanied by pleasure. By that you can tell what you ought to do.

Too chaste a youth leads to a dissolute old age.

Old hands soil, it seems, whatever they caress, but they too have their beauty when they are joined in prayer. Young hands were made for caresses and the sheathing of love. It is a pity to make them join too soon.

It is with noble sentiments that bad literature gets written.

The want of logic annoys. Too much logic bores. Life eludes logic, and everything that logic alone constructs remains artificial and forced.

Atheism. There is not a single exalting and emancipating influence that does not in turn become inhibitory.

What I dislike least in my former self are the moments of prayer.