And let me touch those curving claws of yellow ivory; and grasp the tail that like a monstrous asp coils round your heavy velvet paws.

sorrow...is a wound that bleeds when any hand but that of love touches it

The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid

I now see that sorrow, being the supreme emotion of which man is capable, is at once the type and test of all great art.

He would stab his best friend for the sake of writing an epigraph on his tombstone.

It is not wise to find symbols in everything that one sees. It makes life too full of terrors.

Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, for can it be weighed out in the balance for gold.