Nature has made a pebble and a female. The lapidary makes the diamond, and the lover makes the woman.

The tomb is not a blind alley: it is a thoroughfare. It closes on the twilight. It opens on the dawn.

Men become accustomed to poison by degrees.

He left her. She was dissatisfied with him. He had preferred to incur her anger rather than cause her pain. He had kept all the pain for himself.

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

Nature is pitiless; she never withdraws her flowers, her music, her fragrance, and her sunlight from before human cruelty or suffering.

A criminal remains a criminal whether he uses a convict's suit or a monarch's crown.