Character makes its own destiny.
Love manufactures every man into a poet while the fever lasts.
Work, ah! that talisman to guard one against one's self.
Men and women existed before creeds; love is the only religion.
A man does not entreat for love. It is the irresistible impulse towards each other of two souls, a union in which there is neither conscious giving nor receiving.
True sympathy is beyond what can be seen and touched and reasoned upon.