If a writer wrote merely for his time, I would have to break my pen and throw it away.

The malicious have a dark happiness.

A one-eyed man is much more incomplete than a blind man, for he knows what it is that's lacking.

The ideal and the beautiful are identical; the ideal corresponds to the idea, and beauty to form; hence idea and substance are cognate.

A house is built of logs and stone, of tiles and posts and piers; a home is built of loving deeds that stand a thousand years.

There is a material advancement; we desire it. There is, also, a moral grandeur; we hold fast to it.

In the opera we call love, the libretto is almost nothing.