The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.

Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.

The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?

Man's real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it soon will be so.

We loved with a love that was more than love.