When we lose one we love, our bitterest tears are called forth by the memory of hours when we loved not enough.

Do we not all spend the greater part of our lives under the shadow of an event that has not yet come to pass?.

The value of ourselves is but the value of our melancholy and our disquiet.

Is not every action of Hamlet induced by a fanatical impulse, which tells him that duty consists in revenge alone? And dose it need superhuman efforts to recognize that revenge never can be duty? I say again that Hamlet thinks much, but that he is by no means wise.

At every crossroad on the way that leads to the future, each progressive spirit is opposed by a thousand men appointed to guard the past.

You do well to have visions of a better life than of every day, but it is the life of every day from which the elements of a better life must come.

We are never the same with others as when we are alone. We are different, even when we are in the dark with them.