Our consciousness rarely registers the beginning of a growth within us any more than without us; there have been many circulation of the sap before we detect the smallest sign of the bud.

Death is the king of this world: 'Tis his park where he breeds life to feed him. Cries of pain are music for his banquet.

The mother's love is at first an absorbing delight, blunting all other sensibilities; it is an expansion of the animal existence.

What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined - to strengthen each other - to be at one with each other in silent unspeakable memories.

Mighty is the force of motherhood! It transforms all things by its vital heat.

That's what a man wants in a wife, mostly; he wants to make sure one fool tells him he's wise.

Art is the nearest thing to life; it is a mode of amplifying experience and extending our contact with our fellow men beyond the bounds of our personal lot.