To Contemplate Is To Look At Shadows.

As A Means Of Contrast With The Sublime, The Grotesque Is, In Our View, The Richest Source That Nature Can Offer.

A Mother's Arms Are Made Of Tenderness And Children Sleep Soundly In Them.

The Convent Is Supreme Egotism Resulting In Supreme Self-denial.

The Earth Is A Great Piece Of Stupidity.

The Poor Man Shuddered, Overflowed With An Angelic Joy; He Declared In His Transport That This Would Last Through Life; He Said To Himself That He Really Had Not Suffered Enough To Deserve Such Radiant Happiness, And He Thanked God, In The Depths Of His Soul, For Having Permitted That He, A Miserable Man, Should Be So Loved By This Innocent Being.