Every year lays more earth upon us, which weighs us down from aerial regions, till we go under the earth at last.

It is only in the morning that one should marry, read unfavourable reviews, make one's will, beat one's servants, and so forth.

Is it not in the most absolute simplicity that real genius plies its pinions the most wonderfully?

There is nothing more marvelous or madder than real life.

There are men from whom nature or some peculiar destiny has removed the cover beneath which we hide our own madness. They are likethin-skinned insects whose visible play of muscles seem to make them deformed, though in fact, everything soon turns to its normal shape again.

How prone poor Humanity is to dam up the minutest remnants of its freedom, and build an artificial roof to prevent it looking up to the clear blue sky.

I may be permitted, kind reader, to doubt whether you have ever been enclosed in a glass bottle, unless some vivid dream has teased you with such magical mishaps.