Don't judge a book by its cover
There are natures in which, if they love us, we are conscious of having a sort of baptism and consecration.
To judge wisely, we must know how things appear to the unwise.
Your dunce who can't do his sums always has a taste for the infinite.
Melodies die out, like the pipe of Pan, with the ears that love them and listen for them.
A girl of eighteen imagines the feelings behind the face that has moved her with its sympathetic youth as easily as primitive people imagined the humors of the gods in fair weather. What is she to believe in if not in this vision woven from within?