t compliments.

The chief offence of the poet, as of the philosopher, is that the world
as it is fails to satisfy them.

Society, which is after all only a conglomerate of hosts, has the host's
weakness--all its guests must smile.

The poet sighs, the philosopher yawns. Society feels that they
depreciate it. Society feels more at ease without them.

To find every one acceptable to you is to make yourself acceptable to
every one.

Hived bees get sugar because they will give back honey. All existence is
a series of equivalents.

* * *

Even the discreetest friends will, like the closest-packed hold of a
ship, leak occasionally. Salt water and secrets are alike apt to ooze.

* * *

The simplicity of the artist is always the stumbling-block of the artist
with the world.

* * *

A woman need never dread the fiercest quarrel with her lover; the
tempest may bring sweeter weather than any it broke up, and after the
thunder the singing of birds will sound lovelier than before. Anger will
not extinguish love, nor will scorn trample it dead; jealousy will fan
its fires, and offences against it may but fasten closer the fetters
that it adores beyond all liberty. But when love dies of a worn-out
familiarity it perishes for ever and aye.

Jaded, disenchanted, wearied, indifferent, the tired passion expires of
sheer listlessness and contemptuous disillusion.

The death is slow and unperceived, but it is sure; and it is a death
that has no resurrection.

* * *

There is nothing that you may not get people to believe in if you will
only tell it them loud enough and often enough, till the welkin rings
with it.

* * *

What Raffaelle has left us must be to the glories he imagined as the
weaver's dye to the sunset's fire.

* * *

A woman's violence is a mighty power; before it reason recoils unnerved,
justice quails appalled, and peace perishes like a burnt-up scroll; it
is a sand-storm, before which courage can do but little: the bravest man
can but fall on his face and let it rage on above him.

* * *

A very trustful woman believes in her lover's fidelity with her heart; a
very vain woman believes in it with her head.

* * *

From the moment that another life has any empire on ours, peace is gone.

Art spreads around us a profound and noble repose, but pa