With subtle and finely-wrought temperaments it is always so. Their strong passions must either bruise or bend. They either slay the man, or themselves die. Shallow sorrows and shallow loves live on. The loves and the sorrows that are great are destroyed by their own plenitude.
Most men and women are forced to perform parts for which they have no qualification.
He who stands most remote from his age is he who mirrors it best.
Perhaps in nearly every joy, as certainly in every pleasure, cruelty has its place.
The supreme vice is shallowness.
I may have said the same thing before... but my explanation, I am sure, will always be different.