Ideas never lack for words. It is words that lack ideas.

Men have torn up the roads which led to Heaven, and which all the world followed; now we have to make our own ladders.

Fear loves the idea of danger.

Who ever has no fixed opinions has no constant feelings.

Words become luminous when the poet's finger has passed over them its phosphorescence.

I quit Paris unwillingly, because I must part from my friends; and I quit the country unwillingly, because I must part from myself.

It is not my words that I polish, but my ideas.