We of the craft are all crazy.
Lovers may be and indeed generally are enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.
Fame is the thirst of youth.
I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse -- borne away with every breath!
A pretty woman is a welcome guest.
The light of love, the purity of grace, The mind, the Music breathing from her face, The heart whose softness harmonised the whole — And, oh! that eye was in itself a Soul!