Style is a magic wand, and turns everything to gold that it touches.

Only those who get into scrapes with their eyes open can find the safe way out.

If it's to be, it's up to me.

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

What humbugs we are, who pretend to live for beauty, and never see the dawn!

But why wasn't I born, alas, in an age of Adjectives; why can one no longer write of silver-shedding Tears and moon-tailed Peacocks, of eloquent Death, of the Negro and star-enameled Night?

There are few sorrows in which a good income is of no avail.