Solitude is fine, but you need someone to tell you that solitude is fine.

Women, perhaps even require a little hypocrisy.

It is not hope but despair that gives us the measure of our ambitions. We may yield secretly to beautiful poems of hope but grief looms start and stripped of all veils.

God is the poet; men are but the actors. The great dramas of earth were written in heaven.

Thought is the only treasure that God sets outside all power and keeps to serve as a secret link among the unhappy.

Whereas scoundrels become reconciled after knifing one another, lovers break up irrevocably over a mere glance or word.

Conscience is a cudgel which all men pick up in order to thwack their neighbors instead of applying it to their own shoulders.