We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love

In women's destiny everything goes downhill except for thought, whose immortal nature it is to keep constantly rising.

It seems to me that we become more dear one to the other, in together admiring works of art, which speak to the soul by their true grandeur.

Happy the land where the writers are sad, the merchants satisfied, the rich melancholic, and the populace content.

New doctrines ever displease the old. They like to fancy that the world has been losing wisdom, instead of gaining it, since they were young.

there is not enough interest in life to spread over twenty-four hours when one can't sleep.

The mystery of existence is the connection between our faults and our misfortunes.