* * * * * Realism is the grave of love.

* * * * *

A woman’s smile is two edged.

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Life is too short to prepare a soul for eternity

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A great love is only inspired by a great nature.

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It is as wise to cultivate forgetfulness as memory.

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Society, a haven for fools; literature and art for brains.

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Many people have courage to face anything but themselves.

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A woman is always in love, either with herself or with love.

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Two things in life man regards with esteem:  himself and his pipe.

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Truth and sincerity are only found in the face of a child and the eyes of a dog.

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A young face and an old heart are sorry companions, but an old face and a young heart are sorrier still.

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What people will ‘say’ is the bugbear of small minds.

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Love would cease to exist were it not for the gift of idealizing.

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A fly is but a small thing, yet it can disturb the greatest philosopher.

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Is a new soul created at every birth, or are we merely corpses warmed over?

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Kind words and a sympathetic handclasp have done more to reclaim lost souls than all the tracts ever published.

* * * * *

A minute is a short duration of time, yet in that interval one may experience the whole gamut of human emotions.

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If the world valued us as we value ourselves the heavens would not be sufficiently large whereon to inscribe our greatness.

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What becomes of the characters who play an important part in fiction; the strong, brave, true fiction-people, whom we love as we read?  Is there no place for them in the world peopled by shadows?

* * * * *

There are men who will accept any and every sacrifice from a woman and after making her a wreck, socially and morally, will say to her, “I fear that I am injuring you, so I will sacrifice myself and deny myself the pleasure of your society.”  Such men would sneak into heaven by a side entrance.

* * * * *

Fate, in a sportive mood, performs some wonderful acrobatic feats with human nature; gives love of oriental luxury to the woman with nothing a year; appreciation of all that is beautiful and artistic, to the ploughman; an epicurian taste to the starving mechanic; while to the woman rolling in wealth is given the manners and tastes of the fish-wife; to the multi-millionaire the habits of the canaille, and fate laughs with glee over the fantastic, incongruous muddle of the thing called Life.