Count art by gold, and it fetters the feet it once winged.

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.

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

What we love once, we love forever. Shall there be joy in heaven over those who repent, yet no forgiveness for them upon earth? --"Wanda

Flowers belong to Fairyland: the flowers and the birds and the butterflies are all that the world has kept of its golden age--the only perfectly beautiful things on earth--joyous, innocent, half divine--useless, say they who are wiser than God.

It is only to those who have never lived that death ever can seems beautiful.

Charity is a flower not naturally of earthly growth, and it needs manuring with a promise of profit.