The past is the sepulchre of our dead emotions.

The great artist is a slave to his ideals.

Even when we fancy we have grown wiser, it is only, it may be, that new prejudices have displaced old ones.

No man is happy without a delusion of some kind. Delusions are as necessary to our happiness as realities.

Whether one talks well depends very much upon whom he has to talk to.

We give our best affections to the beautiful, only our second best to the useful.

Motives are better than actions. Men drift into crime. Of evil they do more than they contemplate, and of good they contemplate more than they do.