Night had come—night that she loved of all times, night in which the reflections in the dark pool of the mind shine more clearly than by day.

To enjoy freedom we have to control ourselves.

Old Madame du Deffand and her friends talked for fifty years without stopping. And of it all, what remains? Perhaps three witty sayings. So that we are at liberty to suppose either that nothing was said, or that nothing witty was said, or that the fraction of three witty sayings lasted eighteen thousand two hundred and fifty nights, which does not leave a liberal allowance of wit for any one of them.

Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding, O Death!

Long ago I realized that no other person would be to me what you are.

Nothing thicker than a knife's blade separates happiness from melancholy.

In people's eyes, in the swing, tramp, and trudge; in the bellow and uproar; the carriages, motor cars, omnibuses, vans, sandwich men shuffling and swinging; brass bands; barrel organs; in the triumph and the jingle and the strange high singing of some aeroplane overhead was what she loved; life; London; this moment in June.