Every spring is the only spring, a perpetual astonishment.

What are wits for unless a man uses them?

You'll never get to be a saint if you deny the bit of the devil in you.

Beauty is a perilous gift.

The voices of cold reason were talking, as usual, to deaf ears.

You cannot demand truth, and then select half and throw the inconvenient remainder away.

Of all the reports that fly about the world, ill news is the surest of all to arrive!