The English are a nation of consummate cant.

A good writer possesses not only his own spirit but also the spirit of his friends.

Where do your greatest dangers lie?--In pity.

Whoever thought that he had understood something of me had merely construed something out of me, after his own image.

The rising and falling of the scales of pride and humility sustain the brooding mind as well as the alternations of desire and peace of the soul.

Speaking of Georges Bizet: His music has the tang of sunny climates, their bracing air, their clearness. It voices a sensibility hitherto unknown to us.

Those who cannot understand how to put their thoughts on ice should not enter into the heat of debate.