Vivre est un maladie dont le sommeil nous soulage toutes les 16 heures. C'est un pallatif. La mort est le remede.

In the fine arts, as in many other things, we know well only what we have not learned.

Someone has said that to plagiarise from the ancients is to play the pirate beyond the Equator, but that to steal from the moderns is to pick pockets at street corners.

Knowledge is boundless,--human capacity, limited.

Covetousness is a sort of mental gluttony, not confined to money, but craving honor, and feeding on selfishness.

Wrinkles and ill-nature together made a woman hideous.

There is a melancholy that stems from greatness