In metropolitan cases, the love of the most single-eyed lover, almost invariably, is nothing more than the ultimate settling of innumerable wandering glances upon some one specific object.

It is the easiest thing in the world for a man to look as if he had a great secret in him.

I feel that the Godhead is broken up like the bread at the Supper, and that we are the pieces. Hence this infinite fraternity of feeling.

We die of too much life.

Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale... from hell's heart I stab at thee.

Where lies the final harbor, whence we unmoor no more?

A true military officer is in one particular like a true monk. Not with more self-abnegation will the latter keep his vows of monastic obedience than the former his vows of allegiance to martial duty.