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

All must yield to the weight of years; conquest is not difficult for time.

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

Green is the prime color of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.

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

Great events have sent before them their announcements.

How surely a knowledge of the world hardens the heart!