The heart that can no longer love passionately must with fury hate.

Vice, like virtue, Grows in small steps, and no true innocence Can ever fall at once to deepest guilt.

The principal rule of art is to please and to move. All the other rules were created to achieve this first one.

My death, taking the light from my eyes, gives back to the day the purity which they soiled.

There may be guilt when there is too much virtue.

Crime, like virtue, has its degrees.

And do you count for nothing God who fights for us?