Speak no evil of women; I tell thee the meanest of them deserves respect; for of women do we not all come?

In this treacherous world Nothing is the truth nor a lie. Everything depends on the color Of the crystal through which one sees it

And yet, and yet, in these our ghostly lives, Half night, half day, half sleeping, half awake, How if our waking life, like that of sleep, Be all a dream in that eternal life To which we wake not till we sleep in death

No virtue can be real that has not been tried. The gold in the crucible alone is perfect; the loadstone tests the steel, and the diamond is tried by the diamond, while metals gleam the brighter in the furnace.

The heart is an astrologer that always divines the truth.

Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; -Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutory rein Of reason, and the grinding will of man.

The fox is very cunning, but he is more cunning who catches the fox.