The heart is an astrologer that always divines the truth.

Even in dreams doing good is not wasted.

If a pretty woman only knew how anger improved her beauty! Her complexion needs no other paint than indignation.

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

When love is not madness, it is not love.

One may know how to gain a victory, and know not how to use it.

For man's greatest crime is to have been born.