Love sorrows are addictive as other sorrows are not.
Conscience is the moralized form of self-absorption.
When science drove the gods out of nature, they took refuge in poetry and the porticos of civic buildings.
Courage, determination, and hard work are all very nice, but not so nice as an oil well in the back yard.
New York loves itself in an unkind and fanatical way.
The aphorism is a slippery plaything.