“Generosity is the flower of justice.”

If mankind were all intellect, they would be continually changing, so that one age would be entirely unlike another. The great conservative is the heart, which remains the same in all ages; so that commonplaces of a thousand years’ standing are as effective as ever.

Religion and art spring from the same root and are close kin. Economics and art are strangers.

There is an alchemy of quiet malice by which women can concoct a subtle poison from ordinary trifles.

Words – so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.

Though we speak nonsense, God will pick out the meaning of it.

My fortune somewhat resembled that of a person who should entertain an idea of committing suicide, and, altogether beyond his hopes, meet with the good hap to be murdered.

What we need for our happiness is often close at hand, if we knew but how to seek for it.

The world owes all its onward impulses to men ill at ease. The happy man inevitably confines himself within ancient limits.

Caresses, expressions of one sort or another, are necessary to the life of the affections as leaves are to the life of a tree. If they are wholly restrained, love will die at the roots.

The marble keeps merely a cold and sad memory of a man who would else be forgotten. No man who needs a monument ever ought to have one.

The heart of true womanhood knows where its own sphere is, and never seeks to stray beyond it!

What a happy and holy fashion it is that those who love one another should rest on the same pillow.

Accuracy is twin brother to honesty, and inaccuracy to dishonesty.

Happiness in this world, when it comes, comes incidentally. Make it the object of pursuit, and it leads us a wild-goose chase, and is never attained. Follow some other object, and very possibly we may find that we have caught happiness without dreaming of it.

Echo is the voice of a reflection in a mirror.

Death should take me while I am in the mood.

She spent time planting flowers in her heart now they bloom as they smile.

I will bring you all of my dead flowers if you will breathe me a promise of spring.

Release the things that no longer serve you like the petals of a flower. It will seed your life with new growth and you will bloom again.

I am both mud and lotus but, my love you only see the mud.

A rose may wilt but its true beauty always remains.

She pulled the thorn from her side and turned it into a rose.

Maybe we’ll meet on the beach sand in our shoes, waves in our guts flowers blooming by some miracle because you always had the talent to make those happen.

You left flowers on my bedside as if I were my tomb clumsy words that don’t begin to heal my wounds “I’m sorry” scrawled on a post-it.