The intellect has only one failing, which, to be sure, is a very considerable one. It has no conscience.

In all literary history there is no such figure as Dante, no such homogeneousness of life and works, such loyalty to ideas, such sublime irrecognition of the unessential.

Earth's noblest thing,-a woman perfected.

They are slaves who fear to speak, for the fallen and the weak.

Virtue treads paths that end not in the grave.

Fashion being the art of those who must purchase notice at some cheaper rate than that of being beautiful, loves to do rash and extravagant things. She must be forever new, or she becomes insipid.

It is not the insurrections of ignorance that are dangerous, but the revolts of the intelligence.