This hobble of being alive is rather serious, don’t you think so?

War makes good history but peace is poor reading.

All romances end at marriage.

It was the touch of the imperfect upon the would-be perfect that gave the sweetness, because it was that which gave the humanity

Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed. Teach me to die.

He wished she knew his impressions; but he would as soon have thought of carrying an odour in a net as of attempting to convey the intangibilities of his feeling in the coarse meshes of language. So he remained silent.

Silence has sometimes a remarkable power of showing itself as the disembodied soul of feeling wandering without its carcase, and it is then more impressive than speech.