Unkind people imagine themselves to be inflicting pain on someone equally unkind.

Happiness is beneficial for the body, but it is grief that develops the powers of the mind.

Love is an incurable malady like those pathetic states in which rheumatism affords the sufferer a brief respite only to be replaced by epileptiform headaches.

Things don't change, but by and by our wishes change.

The opinions which we hold of one another, our relations with friends and kinsfolk are in no sense permanent, save in appearance, but are as eternally fluid as the sea itself.

The thirst for something other than what we have…to bring something new, even if it is worse, some emotion, some sorrow; when our sensibility, which happiness has silenced like an idle harp, wants to resonate under some hand, even a rough one, and even if it might be broken by it.

If a little dreaming is dangerous, the cure for it is not to dream less but to dream more, to dream all the time.