Superstition is the poetry of life. It is inherent in man's nature; and when we think it is wholly eradicated, it takes refuge in the strangest holes and corners, whence it peeps out all at once, as soon as it can do it with safety.

Only the heart without a stain knows ease.

Man believes himself always greater than he is, and is esteemed less than he is worth.

For that is love's nature that it lays claim to exclusive right and that all other claims are nil.

To live within limits. To want one thing. Or a few things very much and love them dearly. Cling to them, survey them from every angle. Become one with them - that is what makes the poet, the artist, the human being.

Who are you then?" "I am part of that power which eternally wills evil and eternally works good.

An angel! Nonsense! Everybody so describes his mistress; and yet I find it impossible to tell you how perfect she is, or why she is so perfect: suffice it to say she has captivated all my senses.