What a sense of security in an old book which Time has criticized for us!

Ah, in this world, where every guiding thread Ends suddenly in the one sure centre, death, The visionary hand of Might-have-been Alone can fill Desire's cup to the brim!

Taste is the next gift to genius.

Greatly begin. Though thou have time, but for a line, be that sublime. Not failure, but low aim is crime.

Granting our wish is one of Fate's saddest jokes.

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

Toward no crimes have men shown themselves so cold- bloodedly cruel as in punishing differences of belief.