Habit is the nursery of errors.

No one knows like a woman how to say things which are at once gentle and deep.

The most ferocious animals are disarmed by caresses to their young.

When a man understands the art of seeing, he can trace the spirit of an age and the features of a king even in the knocker on a door.

The jostling of young minds against each other has this wonderful attribute, that one can never foresee the spark, nor predict the flash. What will spring up in a moment? Nobody knows.

Monsieur' to a convict is a glass of water to a man dying of thirst at sea; ignominy thirsts for respect.

She was sad with an obscure sadness of which she had not the secret herself. There was in her whole person the stupor of a life ended but never commenced.