One is never satisfied with the portrait of a person that one knows.

There is but one poetry,--true poetry.

The world cannot do without great men, but great men are very troublesome to the world.

We all walk in mysteries. We are surrounded by an atmosphere about which we still know nothing at all.

He who does not stretch himself according to the coverlet finds his feet uncovered.

There is a politeness of the heart; this is closely allied to love.

We can stand only a certain amount of unhappiness; anything beyond that annihilates us or passes us by, leaving us apathethetic.