There Is But On Virtue--the Eternal Sacrifice

The Life Of Great Geniuses Is Nothing But A Sublime Storm.

The Masses Are Still Ungrateful Or Ignorant. They Prefer Murder, Poisonings, And Crimes Generally To A Literature Possessed Of Style And Feeling.

One Wastes So Much Time, One Is So Prodigal Of Life, At Twenty! Our Days Of Winter Count For Double. That Is The Compensation Of The Old.

Age Continually Alters The Faces Of Those Who Think Or Study, And So Their Portraits Differ From One Another And Don't Even Resemble Them For Very Long. I Dream So Much And Live So Little That I'm Sometimes Only Three Years Old. But The Next Day I'm Three Hundred, If The Dream Has Been Sombre.

A Woman, When She Is Heroic, Is Not Heroic By Halves.