A woman would rather visit her own grave than the place where she has been young and beautiful after she is aged and ugly.

He knelt and bent lower, till her breath warmed his face, and in a moment his cheek was in contact with hers. She was sleeping soundly, and upon her eyelashes there lingered tears.

Black chaos comes, and the fettered gods of the earth say, Let there be light.

But nothing is more insidious than the evolution of wishes from mere fancies, and of wants from mere wishes.

To be loved to madness--such was her great desire. Love was to her the one cordial which could drive away the eating loneliness of her days. And she seemed to long for the abstraction called passionate love more than for any particular lover.

That man's silence is wonderful to listen to.

By experience", says Roger Ascham, "we find out a short way by a long wandering." Not seldom that long wandering unfits us for further travel, and of what use is our experience to us then?