It is very difficult to pass from pleasure to work. Accordingly more poems have been swallowed up by sorrow than ever happiness caused to blaze forth in unparalleled radiance.

Temperament is the thermometer of character.

Let us leave the cure of public evils to those quacks, the statesmen.

Our souls possess the unknown power of extending as well as contracting space.

Virtue, my pet, is an abstract idea, varying in its manifestations with the surroundings. Virtue in Provence, in Constantinople, in London, and in Paris bears very different fruit, but is none the less virtue.

The secret of great fortunes without apparent cause is a crime forgotten, for it was properly done.

Love, according to our contemporary poets, is a privilege which two beings confer upon one another, whereby they may mutually cause one another much sorrow over absolutely nothing.