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The books—the generous friends who met me without suspicion—the merciful masters who never used me ill! The only years of my life that I can look back...more

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Our words are giants when they do us an injury, and dwarfs when they do us a service.

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The woman who first gives life, light, and form to our shadowy conceptions of beauty, fills a void in our spiritual nature that has remained unknown t...more

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Sympathies that lie too deep for words, too deep almost for thoughts, are touched, at such times, by other charms than those which the senses feel and...more

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The first and last weakness of his life, before him again. For a moment he felt himself blinded by his own memories; his own remembrances of the wits ...more

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The explanation has been written already in the three words that were many enough, and plain enough, for my confession. I loved her.

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Darker and darker, he said; farther and farther yet. Death takes the good, the beautiful, and the young - and spares me. The Pestilence that wastes, t...more

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I should have asked why any room in the house was better than home to me when she entered it, and barren as a desert when she went out again—why I alw...more