Masterpieces Are Only Lucky Attempts.

There Are No More Thorough Prudes Than Those Who Have Some Little Secret To Hide.

It Is Sad, No Doubt, To Exhaust One's Strength And One's Days In Cleaving The Bosom Of This Jealous Earth, Which Compels Us To Wring From It The Treasures Of Its Fertility, When A Bit Of The Blackest And Coarsest Bread Is, At The End Of The Day's Work, The Sole Recompense And The Sole Profit Attaching To So Arduous A Toil.

The Beauty That Addresses Itself To The Eyes Is Only The Spell Of The Moment; The Eye Of The Body Is Not Always That Of The Soul.

It Seems To Me That The Earth Belongs To God Who Made It And Entrusted It To Men As A Perpetual Home. But It Cannot Have Been Part Of His Plan That Some Men Should Be Ill With Overfeeding And That Others Should Die Of Starvation. No Matter What Anyone Can Say They Cannot Prevent Me From Feeling Sad And Angry When I See A Beggar Crying At A Rich Man's Door.

God Abandons Only Those Who Abandon Themselves, And Whoever Has The Courage To Shut Up His Sorrow Within His Own Heart Is Stronger To Fight Against It Than He Who Complains.