I am about to be married, and am of course in all the misery of a man in pursuit of happiness.

The dew of compassion is a tear.

There is no instinct like that of the heart.

Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.

Adversity is the first path to truth.

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.

Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!

Opinions are made to be changed - or how is truth to be got at?

A man of eighty has outlived probably three new schools of painting, two of architecture and poetry and a hundred in dress.

If I am fool, it is, at least, a doubting one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.

The heart will break, but broken live on.

Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.

America is a model of force and freedom and moderation - with all the coarseness and rudeness of its people.

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.

A woman should never be seen eating or drinking, unless it be lobster salad and Champagne, the only true feminine and becoming viands.

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

Fame is the thirst of youth.

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.

There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.

The best prophet of the future is the past.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

If we must have a tyrant, let him at least be a gentleman who has been bred to the business, and let us fall by the axe and not by the butcher's cleaver.

Friendship is Love without his wings!

Smiles form the channels of a future tear.

A celebrity is one who is known to many persons he is glad he doesn't know.

Friendship is Love without his wings!

I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.

This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.

Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure; men love in haste but they detest at leisure.

All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.

The busy have no time for tears.

What is the worst of woes that wait on age? What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow? To view each loved one blotted from life's page, And be alone on earth, as I am now.

There are four questions of value in life, Don Octavio. What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is the same. Only love.

Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.

Who loves, raves.

Man's love is of man's life a part; it is a woman's whole existence. In her first passion, a woman loves her lover, in all the others all she loves is love.

I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.

Lovers may be - and indeed generally are - enemies, but they never can be friends, because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of Self in all their speculations.

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

Absence - that common cure of love.

This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And leaving nothing, yet hath all.

Man is born passionate of body, but with an innate though secret tendency to the love of Good in his main-spring of Mind. But God help us all! It is at present a sad jar of atoms.

Society is now one polished horde, formed of two mighty tries, the Bores and Bored.