The simplicity of your character makes you exquisitely incomprehensible to me.

It was the passions about whose origin we deceived ourselves that tyrannized most strongly over us.

Love is like a war; easy to start but hard to end and you never know where it might take you.

Nobody of any real culture, for instance, ever talks nowadays about the beauty of sunset. Sunsets are quite old fashioned. To admire them is a distinct sign of provincialism of temperament. Upon the other hand they go on.

Miss Prism: Do not speak slightingly of the three-volume novel, Cecily. I wrote one myself in earlier days. Cecily: Did you really, Miss Prism? How wonderfully clever you are! I hope it did not end happily? I don't like novels that end happily. They depress me so much. Miss Prism: The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily. That is what fiction means.

Immanuel isn't a pun; he Kant be!

I had buried my romance in a bed of asphodel.