How strange a thing this is! The Priest telleth me that the Soul is worth all the gold in the world, and the merchants say that it is not worth a clipped piece of silver.

And when wind and winter harden All the loveless land, It will whisper of the garden, You will understand.

The reason we are so pleased to find other people's secrets is that it distracts public attention from our own.

There is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love.

Indeed, as any one who has ever worked among the poor knows only too well, the brotherhood of man is no mere poet's dream, it is a most depressing and humiliating reality.

He is fond of being misunderstood. It gives him a post of vantage.

Divorces are made in heaven.