So then the year is repeating its old story again. We are come once more, thank God! to its most charming chapter. The violets and the Mayflowers are as its inscriptions or vignettes. It always makes a pleasant impression on us, when we open again at these pages of the book of life.

From desire I plunge to its fulfilment, where I long once more for desire.

Beauty and Genius must be kept afar if one would avoid becoming their slave.

The decline in literature indicates a decline in the nation. The two keep pace in their downward tendency.

After fifteen minutes nobody looks at a rainbow.

The artist who is not also a craftsman is no good; but, alas, most of our artists are nothing else.

The miller believes that all the wheat grows so that his mill keeps running.