We love because we love.
The art of motherhood involves much silent, unobtrusive self-denial, an hourly devotion which finds no detail too minute.
Behind every fortune there is a crime.
A jealous husband doesnt doubt his wife, but himself.
The smallest flower is a thought, a life answering to some feature of the Great Whole, of whom they have a persistent intuition.
In the silence of their studios, busied for days at a time with works which leave the mind relatively free, painters become like women; their thoughts can revolve around the minor facts of life and penetrate their hidden meaning.