“A gloomy guest fits not a wedding feast.”

Nothing, it is true, is more common than for both Science and Art to pay homage to the spirit of the age, and for creative taste to accept the law of critical taste.

Only the soldier is a free man, because he can look death in the face.

Truth is more than a dream and a song.

Eternity gives nothing back of what one leaves out of the minutes.

Dare to err and to dream. Deep meaning often lies in childish plays.

Physical beauty is the sign of an interior beauty, a spiritual and moral beauty which is the basis, the principle, and the unity of the beautiful.

He who considers too much will perform little.

O that it might remain eternally green, The beautiful time of youthful love.

I am my own heaven and hell!

The world’s history is constant, like the laws of nature, and simple, like the souls of men. The same conditions continually produce the same results.

The first great law is to obey.

In love, Jealousy is the great exaggerator.

Alas! When duty grows thy law, enjoyment fades away.

Love is the reward of love.

Weep, for the light is dead.

Will it, and set to work briskly.

Look. This is your world! You can’t not look. There is no other world. This is your world; it is your feast. You inherited this; you inherited these eyeballs; you inherited this world of color. Look at the greatness of the whole thing. Look! Don’t hesitate – look! Open your eyes. Don’t blink, and look, look – look further.

Life should serve up its feast of experience in a series of courses.

For me, the Immaculate Conception is the feast of ‘passive action,’ the action that functions simply by the transmission through us of divine energy.

People go through life blindly, ignoring death like revellers at a party feasting on fine foods. They ignore that later they will have to go to the toilet, so they do not bother to find out where there is one.

Feast today makes fast tomorrow.

Where are the feasts we were promised? Where is the wine, the new wine, dying on the vine.

When Christ at Cana’s feast by pow’r divine, Inspir’d cold water, with the warmth of wine, See! cry’d they while, in red’ning tide, it gush’d, The bashful stream hath seen its God and blush’d.

No fool can be silent at a feast.