“All our souls are written in our eyes.”

I am what I am because early in life I decided that I would please at least myself in all things.

And if kisses in these words could travel too, Madam, you’d read this letter with your lips.

A pessimist is a man who tells the truth prematurely.

The dream, alone, is of interest. What is life without a dream?

You must believe me when I believe, and not when I doubt.

My soul, be satisfied with flowers, with fruit, with weeds even; but gather them in the one garden you may call your own.

A large nose is in fact the sign of an affable man, good, courteous, witty, liberal, courageous, such as I am.

It is at night that faith in light is admirable.

My heart always timidly hides itself behind my mind. I set out to bring down stars from the sky, then, for fear of ridicule, I stop and pick little flowers of eloquence.

To joke in the face of danger is the supreme politeness, a delicate refusal to cast oneself as a tragic hero.

To offend is my pleasure; I love to be hated.

It is at night that faith in light is admirable.

A kiss is a rosy dot placed on the “i” in loving.

Your neck. I want to kiss it.

A great nose may be an index Of a great soul.

Stay awhile! ‘Tis sweet,. . . The rare occasion, when our hearts can speak Our selves unseen, unseeing!