Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
Love is love’s reward.
The best prophet of the future is the past.
Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
We are all fools in love.
Man’s love is of man’s life a part; it is a woman’s whole existence.
The heart will break, but broken live on.
Love will not be tampered with.
The fire that in my bosom preys is lone as some volcanic isle.
Absence is the darkest room in the house.
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most must mourn the deepest o’er the fatal truth, the tree of knowledge is not that of life.
What a strange thing man is; and what a stranger thing woman.
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
I exist – I am; I am here so get used to me.
The heart will break, but broken live on.
If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
Friendship is love without his wings!
But ’twas not even thus that present time forbade our smiling.
I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.
Friendship is love without his wings!
Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.
Weakness is wretchedness.
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
Friendship is love without his wings!
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.
Friendship is the shadow of the evening, which increases with the setting sun of life.
But ’twas not even thus that present time forbade our smiling.
What a strange thing man is; and what a stranger thing woman.
There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.
Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.
Friendship is love without his wings!
Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after.
Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.
Friendship is the shadow of the evening, which increases with the setting sun of life.
I leave to others the decision of this point; doubtless, there is much to say on both sides.
I am such a strange mixture of good and evil that it would be difficult to describe me.
Friendship is love without his wings.
Yet I am not more sure that my soul lives, than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart — one of the indivisible primaries, or principles, which, together, make up the humanity.
I regard life as a service. I think the principle of life is to be a quest, a quest that must be undertaken by souls that come into this world.
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