It is the fine excesses of life that make it worth living.
There is something mean in human nature that prefers to think evil, that gives a willing ear and a ready welcome to calumny, a sort of jealousy of goodness and greatness and things of good report.
We are all treading the vanishing road of a song in the air, the vanishing road of the spring flowers and the winter snows, the vanishing roads of the winds and the streams, the vanishing road of beloved faces.
On the contrary, woman is the best equipped fighting machine that ever went to battle.
Be it whim or emergency, the modern laboratory is equally at the service of romance, equally ready to gratify mankind with a torpedo or a toy.
A wholesome oblivion of one’s neighbours is the beginning of wisdom.
Organized Christianity has probably done more to retard the ideals that were its founder’s than any other agency in the world.
It is curious how, from time immemorial, man seems to have associated the idea of evil with beauty, shrunk from it with a sort of ghostly fear, while, at the same time drawn to it by force of its hypnotic attraction.
The beauty we love is very silent. It smiles softly to itself, but never speaks.
Races and nations are thus ever ready to believe the worst of one another.