Genius scorns the power of gold: it is wrong. Gold is the war-scythe on its chariot, which mows down the millions of its foes, and gives free passage to the sun-coursers with which it leaves those heavenly fields of light for the gross battlefields of earth.

Honor is an old-world thing; but it smells sweet to those in whose hand it is strong.

We only see clearly when we have reached the depths of woe.

We do not want to think. We do not want to hear. We do not care about anything. Only give us a good dinner and plenty of money, and let us outshine our neighbors. There is the Nineteenth Century Gospel.

Excess always carries its own retribution.

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.

Fame has only the span of the day, they say. But to live in the hearts of people-that is worth something.