There's something so showy about desperation, it takes hard wits to see it's a grandiose form of funk.

Habit, of which passion must be wary, may all the same be the sweetest part of love.

In big houses in which things are done properly, there is always the religious element. The diurnal cycle is observed with more feeling when there are servants to do the work.

But surely love wouldn't get so much talked about if there were not something in it?

We have really no absent friends.

Every love has a poetic relevance of its own; each love brings to light only what to it is relevant. Outside lies the junk-yard of what does not matter.

I pity people who do not care for Society. They are poorer for the oblation they do not make.