The man is placed where the Earth ends, the woman, where the heaven starts.
In the opera we call love, the libretto is almost nothing.
Adversity makes men, and prosperity makes monsters.
Beauty is as useful as the useful. More so, perhaps. (Le beau est aussi utile que l'utile. Plus peut-etre.)
"Animals are happy," said the queen. "They run no risk of going to hell." "They are there already," replied Josiana.
There is a sacred horror about everything grand. It is easy to admire mediocrity and hills; but whatever is too lofty, a genius as well as a mountain, an assembly as well as a masterpiece, seen too near, is appalling.