It is the north wind that lashes men into Vikings; it is the soft, luscious south wind which lulls them to lotus dreams.
There is no knife that cuts so sharply and with such poisoned blade as treachery.
Genius cannot escape the taint of its time more than a child the influence of its begetting.
The song that we hear with our ears is only the song that is sung in our hearts.
When passion and habit long lie in company it is only slowly and with incredulity that habit awakens to finds its companion fled, itself alone.
It needs a great nature to bear the weight of a great gratitude.