We should nourish our souls on the dew of Poesy, and manure them as well.
Style is a magic wand, and turns everything to gold that it touches.
If we shake hands with icy fingers, it is because we have burnt them so horribly before.
There are few sorrows in which a good income is of no avail.
The indefatigable pursuit of an unattainable perfection -even though nothing more than the pounding of an old piano -is what alone gives a meaning to our life on this unavailing star.
Happiness is a wine of the rarest vintage, and seems insipid to a vulgar taste.