“So rapid is the flight of our dreams upon the wings of imagination.”

Pain, thou art not an evil.

There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.

Haste is a poor counselor.

Time, dear friend, time brings round opportunity; opportunity is the martingale of man. The more we have ventured the more we gain, when we know how to wait.

Great is truth. Fire cannot burn it nor water drown it.

Oh! The good times when we were so unhappy.

Moral wounds have this peculiarity – they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.

The wretched and miserable should turn to their Saviour first, yet they do not hope in Him until all other hope is exhausted.

I have always had more dread of a pen, a bottle of ink, and a sheet of paper than of a sword or pistol.

You are very amiable, no doubt, but you would be charming if you would only depart.

Be happy, noble heart, be blessed for all the good thou hast done and wilt do hereafter, and let my gratitude remain in obscurity like your good deeds.

Philosophy cannot be taught; it is the application of the sciences to truth.

Everyone knows that drunkards and lovers have a protecting diety.

Your bitter memories still have time to turn into sweet ones.

So heavy is the chain of wedlock that it needs two to carry it, and sometimes three.

The difference between treason and patriotism is only a matter of dates.

I made wings from the wreckage of us.

An equal doom clipp’d Time’s blest wings of peace.

Wouldn’t it be enchanting if pixie dust and fairy wings could fix all our broken dreams?

But understand that I want to remain alone, truly alone, so I can precede my face, my voice, my hell without anyone telling me which is the best path.

The fly that touches honey cannot use it’s wings; so too the soul that clings to spiritual sweetness ruins it’s freedom and hinders contemplation.

I chip and carve until I’m a corpse – a bone with no marrow, or a sparrow without wings, a vein without wings, a vein without blood, a puppet with no strings.

Every bird that upwards swings Bears the Cross upon its wings.

Joys do not stay, but take wing and fly away.