The happy never say, and never hear said, farewell.

Truth is a point, the subtlest and finest; harder than adamant; never to be broken, worn away, or blunted. Its only bad quality is, that it is sure to hurt those who touch it; and likely to draw blood, perhaps the life blood, of those who press earnestly upon it.

The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.

The flame of anger, bright and brief, sharpens the barb of love.

The habit of pleasing by flattery makes a language soft; the fear of offending by truth makes it circuitous and conventional.

When a woman hath ceased to be quite the same to us, it matters little how different she becomes.

Great men lose somewhat of their greatness by being near us; ordinary men gain much.