Life’s enchanted cup sparkles near the brim.
Lovers may be – and indeed generally are – enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.
There is no instinct like that of the heart.
I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.
Men are the sport of circumstances when it seems circumstances are the sport of men.
Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.
Smiles form the channels of a future tear.
Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire.
I should be very willing to redress men wrongs, and rather check than punish crimes, had not Cervantes, in that all too true tale of Quixote, shown how all such efforts fail.
Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.