The scorn of genius is the most arrogant and the most boundless of all scorn.

There is no more terrible woe upon earth than the woe of the stricken brain, which remembers the days of its strength, the living light of its reason, the sunrise of its proud intelligence, and knows that these have passed away like a tale that is told.

Imagination without culture is crippled and moves slowly; but it can be pure imagination, and rich also, as folk-lore will tell the vainest.

I do not wish to be a coward like the father of mankind and throw the blame upon a woman.

Women hope that the dead love may revive; but men know that of all dead things none are so past recall as a dead passion.

Opposition to a man in love is like oil to fire.

Coleridge cried; "O God, how glorious it is to live!" Renan asks, "O God, when will it be worth while to live?" In Nature we echo the poet; in the world we echo the thinker.