Adhesion to one idea is monomania; to few, slavery.

The cure for tender sensibilities is to make more of our objects and less of our selves.

Tearless grief bleeds inwardly.

Dishonesty is a forsaking of permanent for temporary advantages.

Merit is never so conspicuous as when coupled with an obscure origin, just as the moon never appears so lustrous as when it emerges from a cloud.

Love delights in paradoxes. Saddest when it has most reason to be gay, sighs are the signs of its deepest joy, and silence is the expression of its yearning tenderness.

The Breath becomes a stone; the stone, a plant; the plant, an animal; the animal, a man; the man, a spirit; and the spirit, a god.