That cold accretion called the world, so terrible in the mass, is so non formidable, even pitiable, in its units.

...she moved about in a mental cloud of many-coloured idealities, which eclipsed all sinister contingencies by its brightness.

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

Done because we are too many.

The value of old age depends upon the person who reaches it. To some men of early performance it is useless. To others, who are late to develop, it just enables them to finish the job.

If Galileo had said in verse that the world moved, the inquisition might have let him alone.

She was but a transient impression, half forgotten.