There Is Something Great And Terrible About

Poets And Men Of Action Differ: The Former Yield To Their Feelings In Order To Reproduce Them In Lively Colors, And Therefore Judge Only Ex Post Facto; The Latter Feel And Judge At One And The Same Time.

Manners Are The Hypocrisy Of A Nation.

Poetry Is Only Born After Painful Journeys Into The Vast Regions Of Thought.

Lofty Souls Are Always Inclined To Make A Virtue Of Misfortune.

Virtue, My Pet, Is An Abstract Idea, Varying In Its Manifestations With The Surroundings. Virtue In Provence, In Constantinople, In London, And In Paris Bears Very Different Fruit, But Is None The Less Virtue.