Death is like a fisherman, who, having caught a fish in his net, leaves it in the water for a time; the fish continues to swim about, but all the while the net is round it, and the fisherman will snatch it out in his own good time.

Don't force me into saying what I don't want to say, and what I won't say.

Even nightingales can’t be fed on fairy tales.

Oh, gentle feelings, soft sounds, the goodness and the gradual stilling of a soul that has been moved; the melting happiness of the first tender, touching joys of love- where are you?

It was only the vulgarly mediocre that repelled her.

The past was a dream wasn't it? And who ever remembers dreams?

Youth eats all the sugared fancy cakes and regards them as its daily bread. But there'll come a time when you'll start asking just for a crust.