When we drink coffee, ideas march in like the army

Sects differ more in name than tenets.

A mother's happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories.

Who is to decide which is the grimmer sight: withered hearts, or empty skulls?

From the manner in which a woman draws her thread at every stitch of her needlework, any other woman can surmise her thoughts.

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.

If youth were not ignorant and timid, civilization would be impossible.