Only mediocrities progress. An artist revolves in a cycle of masterpieces, the first of which is no less perfect than the last.

They flaunt their conjugal felicity in one's face, as if it were the most fascinating of sins.

George Moore leads his readers to the latrine and locks them in.

If you want to be a doormat you have to lay yourself down first.

We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.

Now and then it is a joy to have one's table red with wine and roses.

It is only an auctioneer who can equally and impartially admire all schools of art.