In women everything is heart, even the head.

There are so many tender and holy emotions flying about in our inward world, which, like angels, can never assume the body of an outward act; so many rich and lovely flowers spring up which bear no seed, that it is a happiness poetry was invented, which receives into its limbs all these incorporeal spirits, and the perfume of all these flowers.

Fancy rules over two thirds of the universe, the past, and future, while reality is confined to the present

The heart needs not for its heaven much space, nor many stars therein, if only the star of love has arisen.

Music is moonlight in the gloomy night of life.

For sleep, riches and health to be truly enjoyed and gratefully appreciated, they must be interrupted so the person can see that not having them is not as good as having them.

The darkness of death is like the evening twilight; it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying.