One hates an author that's all author.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

There is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?

A pretty woman is a welcome guest.

The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes, and feel for what their duty bids them do.

The reason that adulation is not displeasing is that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie.

Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.