A strange thing, the human heart in general, and woman's heart in particular.

Passions are merely ideas in their initial stage.

No good ever becomes of a man who forgets an old friend

Afraid of decision, I buried my finer feelings in the depths of my heart and they died there.

Love, like fire, goes out without fuel.

It is sad to see a young man's fondest hopes and dreams shattered when the rose-colured veil is plucked away and he sees the actions and feelings of men for what they are. But he still has the hope of replacing his old illusions with others, just as fleeting, but also just as sweet.

Of two friends, one is always the slave of the other, although frequently neither acknowledges the fact to himself.