The memory of an absent person shines in the deepest recesses of the heart, shining the more brightly the more wholly its object has vanished: a light on the horizon of the despairing, darkened spirit; a star gleaming in our inward night.

These are dark radiances. They have no suspicion that they are to be pitied. Certainly they are so. He who does not weep does not see. They are to be admired and pitied, as one would both pity and admire a being at once night and day, without eyes beneath his lashes but with a star on his brow.

There are people who observe the rules of honor as one observes the stars, from a great distance.

Oh! Everything I loved!

He who opens a school door, closes a prison.

Art needs no spur beyond itself.

No one can keep a secret better than a child.