Nevertheless, in this sea of human wretchedness and malice there bloomed at times compassion, as a pale flower blooms in a putrid marsh.

There is within us a moral instinct which forbids us to rejoice at the death of even an enemy.

On an exhausted field, only weeds grow.

The profession of the writer has its thorns about which the reader does not dream.

Day is like day as two beads in a rosary, unless changes of weather form the only variety.

Wealth is not a hindrance, but rather a help towards attaining a proper standing in a chosen field of activity. I confess that as far as I am concerned, it has done me some service as it preserved my character from many a crookedness poverty might have exposed it to.

He always smiles, even when contemplating nothing good.