Words become luminous when the poet's finger has passed over them its phosphorescence.
When we love, it is the heart that judges.
Genius begins beautiful works, but only labor finishes them.
Words, like glass, obscure when they do not aid vision.
I do not call reason that brutal reason which crushes with its weight what is holy and sacred, that malignant reason which delights in the errors it succeeds in discovering, that unfeeling and scornful reason which insults credulity.
How many weak shoulders have craved heavy burdens!