History develops, art stands still.

The woman who can't influence her husband to vote the way she wants ought to be ashamed of herself.

Railway termini are our gates to the glorious and the unknown

But it struck him that people are not really dead until they are felt to be dead. As long as there is some misunderstanding about them, they possess a sort of immortality.

When that strange race nears the dust and is condemned as untouchable, then nature remembers the physical perfection that she accomplished elsewhere, and throws out a god-not many, but one here and there, to prove to society how little its categories impress her.

In the creative state a man is taken out of himself.

Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its highest. Live in fragments no longer