During the great storms of our lives we imitate those captains who jettison their weightiest cargo.
Love is the poetry of the senses.
Some troubles, like a protested note of a solvent debtor, bear interest.
Our souls possess the unknown power of extending as well as contracting space.
Discouragement is of all ages: In youth it is a presentiment, in old age a remembrance.
Love has its own instinct, finding the way to the heart, as the feeblest insect finds the way to its flower, with a will which nothing can dismay nor turn aside.