The sorrow that lay cold in her mother's heart... converted it into a tomb.

He whose genius appears deepest and truest excels his fellows in nothing save the knack of expression; he throws out occasionally a lucky hint at truths of which every human soul is profoundly though unutterably conscious.

If we take the freedom to put a friend under our microscope, we thereby insulate him from many of his true relations, magnify his peculiarities, inevitably tear him into parts, and, of course, patch him very clumsily together again. What wonder, then, should we be frightened by the aspect of a monster.

How is it possible to sayan unkind or irreverential word of Rome? The city of all time, and of all the world!

The world owes all its onward impulses to men ill at ease. The happy man inevitably confines himself within ancient limits.

Love, whether newly born, or aroused from a deathlike slumber, must always create sunshine, filling the heart so full of radiance, this it overflows upon the outward world.

There is something truer and more real, than what we can see with the eyes, and touch with the finger.