Attention is the stuff that memory is made of, and memory is accumulated genius.

The nunneries of silent nooks, the murmured longing of the wood.

There are two kinds of weakness, that which breaks and that which bends.

Evil is a far more cunning and persevering propagandist than good, for it has no inward strength, and is driven to seek countenance and sympathy.

Time makes ancient good uncouth.

Things always seem fairer when we look back at them, and it is out of that inaccessible tower of the past that Longing leans and beckons.

If the devil take a less hateful shape to us than to our fathers, he is as busy with us as with them.