The Artist Alone Sees Spirits. But After

Colour Itself Is A Degree Of Darkness.

Stupidity Is Without Anxiety.

Happy Is It, Indeed, For Me That My Heart Is Capable Of Feeling The Same Simple And Innocent Pleasure As The Peasant Whose Table Is Covered With Food Of His Own Rearing, And Who Not Only Enjoys His Meal, But Remembers With Delight The Happy Days And Sunny Mornings When He Planted It, The Soft Evenings When He Watered It, And The Pleasure He Experienced In Watching Its Daily Growth.

It Seems To Me That Every Phenomenon, Every Fact, Itself Is The Really Interesting Object. Whoever Explains It, Or Connects It With Other Events, Usually Only Amuses Himself Or Makes Sport Of Us, As, For Instance, The Naturalist Or Historian. But A Single Action Or Event Is Interesting, Not Because It Is Explainable, But Because It Is True.

Distrust Those In Whom The Desire To Punish Is Strong.