Men become old, but they never become good.

You know I have loved him always. But we are very poor. Who, being loved, is poor? Oh, no one. I hate my riches. They are a burden.

Ideals are dangerous things. Realities are better. They wound, but they're better.

The camera, you know, will never capture you. Photography, in my experience, has the miraculous power of transferring wine into water.

The great events of life often leave one unmoved; they pass out of consciousness, and, when thinks of them, become unreal. Even the scarlet flowers of passion seem to grow in the same meadow as the poppies of oblivion. We reject the burden of their memory, and have anodynes against them. But the little things, the things of no moment, remain with us. In some tiny ivory cell the brain stores the most delicate, and the most fleeting impressions.

After a good quality dinner one will be able to forgive anybody, still one's own relations.

We can have in life but one great experience at best, and the secret of life is to reproduce that experience as often as possible.