Life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed by a desire to change his bed.

Music fathoms the sky.

The immense profundity of thought in vulgar locutions, like holes dug by generations of ants.

What a mysterious faculty is that queen of the faculties!

When it meows, one scarcely hears it... It has not the need of words to speak the lengthiest phraseologies.

Alas! Man's vices, horrible as they are supposed to be, contain the positive proof of his taste for the infinite.

Nearly all our originality comes from the stamp that time impresses upon our sensibility.