Any place that we love becomes our world.
When we are happy, we are always good, but when we are good, we are not always happy.
What fire does not destroy, it hardens
The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid
Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by degrees the forms and colours of things are restored to them, and we watch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern.
It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style.