Dandyism is a species of genius.

Avarice is the miser's dream, as fame is the poet's.

Those who speak ill of the spiritual life, although they come and go by day, are like the smith's bellows: they take breath but are not alive.

Charity, like nature, abhors a vacuum. Next to putting it in a bank, men like to squander their superfluous wealth on those to whom it is sure to be doing the least possible good.

Features alone do not run in the blood; vices and virtues, genius and folly, are transmitted through the same sure but unseen channel.

Love and joy are twins or born of each other.

The smallest pain in our little finger gives us more concern than the destruction of millions of our fellow beings.