Fame Nowadays Is Little Else But Notoriety.

Love, The One Supreme, Unceasing Source Of Human Felicity, The One Sole Joy Which Lifts The Whole Mortal Existence Into The Empyrean, Was By It [christianity] Degraded Into The Mere Mechanical Action Of Reproduction.

Age Is Nothing But Death That Is Conscious.

Opposition To A Man In Love Is Like Oil To Fire.

Talent Wears Well, Genius Wears Itself Out; Talent Drives A Snug Brougham In Fact; Genius, A Sun-chariot In Fancy.

Friendship Is Such An Elastic Word. There Never Was An Age When It Stood For So Many Things In Private, And Was Yet So Absolutely Non-existent In Fact.