The sewer is the conscience of the city.

The most powerful symptom of love is a tenderness which becomes at times almost insupportable.

Rhyme, that enslaved queen, that supreme charm of our poetry, that creator of our meter.

Hope is a delusion; no hand can grasp a wave or a shadow.

A tempest ceases, a cyclone passes over, a wind dies down, a broken mast can be replaced, a leak can be stopped, a fire extinguished, but what will become of this enormous brute of bronze?

The thirst for the Infinite proves infinity.

The omnipotence of evil has never resulted in anything but fruitless efforts. Our thoughts always escape from whoever tries to smother them.