Our names are labels, plainly printed on the bottled essence of our past behavior.

How often my soul visits the National Gallery, and how seldom

I might give my life for my friend, but he had better not ask me to do up a parcel.

All mirrors are magical mirrors, and we never see our faces in them.

The denunciation of the young is a necessary part of the hygiene of older people, and greatly assists the circulation of the blood.

What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought; gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.

How many of our daydreams would darken into nightmares if there seemed any danger of their coming true!