The most difficult crime to track is the one which is purposeless.
There's a light in a woman's eyes that speaks louder than words.
There is no scent so pleasant to my nostrils as that faint, subtle reek which comes from an ancient book.
Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest forms.
The future was with Fate. The present was our own.
What can we know? What are we all? Poor silly half-brained things peering out at the infinite, with the aspirations of angels and the instinct of beasts.