A real flame of love is a subtle thing. It burns as a will-o'-the-wisp, dancing onward to fairy lands of delight. It roars as a furnace. Too often jealousy is the quality upon which it feeds.

Your writer, your scientist, your chief official, all have lost the power to revive the early illusion concerning fame and high place. Their beauty and delight is like the mirage in the heavens, only plain to the eye outside; within is nothing.

If I were personally to define religion, I would say that it is a bandage that man has invented to protect a soul made bloody by circustance.

I have seen youths bright eyed and fair groping after bubbles in rapture, and conceiving them diamonds and the glitter of fine jewels, until their hand closed over a something that was not to be felt nor longer seen, mere colored air.

Life is made for the strong. There is no mercy in it for the weak– none...Such is the tragedy of desire.

The strong man wants to be allowed to DO; the little man wants to stop him.

Remember, love is all a woman has to give, but it is the only thing which God permits us to carry beyond the grave.