Carelessness In Dressing Is Moral Suicide.

Prostitution And Robbery Are Two Living Protests, Respectively Female And Male, Made By The Natural State Against The Social State.

A Country Is Strong Which Consists Of Wealthy Families, Every Member Of Whom Is Interested In Defending A Common Treasure; It Is Weak When Composed Of Scattered Individuals, To Whom It Matters Little Whether They Obey Seven Or One, A Russian Or A Corsican, So Long As Each Keeps His Own Plot Of Land, Blind In Their Wretched Egotism, To The Fact That The Day Is Coming When This Too Will Be Torn From Them.

There Are Houses In Certain Provincial Towns Whose Aspect Inspires Melancholy, Akin To That Called Forth By Sombre Cloisters, Dreary Moorlands, Or The Desolation Of Ruins. Within These Houses There Is, Perhaps, The Silence Of The Cloister, The Barrenness Of Moors, The Skeleton Of Ruins; Life And Movement Are So Stagnant There That A Stranger Might Think Them Uninhabited, Were It Not That He Encounters Suddenly The Pale, Cold Glance Of A Motionless Person, Whose Half-monastic Face Peers Beyond The Window-casing At The Sound Of An Unaccustomed Step.

Friendships Last When Each Friend Thinks He Has A Slight Superiority Over The Other.

A Murderer Is Less Loathsome To Us Than A Spy. The Murderer May Have Acted On A Sudden Mad Impulse; He May Be Penitent And Amend; But A Spy Is Always A Spy, Night And Day, In Bed, At Table, As He Walks Abroad; His Vileness Pervades Every Moment Of His Life