Our true history is scarcely ever deciphered by others. The chief part of the drama is a monologue, or rather an intimate debate between God, our conscience, and ourselves. Tears, grieves, depressions, disappointments, irritations, good and evil thoughts, decisions, uncertainties, deliberations --all these belong to our secret, and are almost all incommunicable and intransmissible, even when we try to speak of them, and even when we write them down.

Truth is not only violated by falsehood; it may be equally outraged by silence.

Man is a passion which brings a will into play, which works an intelligence.

Tears are the symbol of the inability of the soul to restrain its emotion and retain its self command.

Analysis kills spontaneity. The grain once ground into flour springs and germinates no more.

Will localizes us, thought universalizes us.

Charm is the quality in others that makes us more satisfied with ourselves.