The miller imagines that the corn grows only to make his mill turn.

Every decided colour does a certain violence to the eye, and forces the organ to opposition.

What reason would grope for in vain, spontaneous impulse ofttimes achieves at a stroke, with light and pleasureful guidance.

That which is eternal in Woman lifts us above.

As our inclinations, so our opinions.

Our passions are the true phoenixes; when the old one is burnt out, a new one rises from its ashes.

It makes no good to point the failures out without showing at the same time the remedy to address them.