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

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.

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.

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.

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

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

Adversity is the first path to truth.

The heart will break, but broken live on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Friendship is Love without his wings!

Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.

I love not man the less, but Nature more.

Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!

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

All farewells should be sudden, when forever.

Absence - that common cure of love.

Yes, love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire with angels shared, by Allah given to lift from earth our low desire.

There is no instinct like that of the heart.

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

The busy have no time for tears.

What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little.

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

Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

The best prophet of the future is the past.

Who loves, raves.

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

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

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.

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.

Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.

Prolonged endurance tames the bold.

Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore.

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

The beginning of atonement is the sense of its necessity.

There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.

What should I have known or written had I been a quiet, mercantile politician or a lord in waiting? A man must travel, and turmoil, or there is no existence.

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

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.

One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I'll have a bit of a tussle before I let it get in again to that of any other.

For pleasures past I do not grieve, nor perils gathering near; My greatest grief is that I leave nothing that claims a tear.

A thousand years may scare form a state. An hour may lay it in ruins.

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.

Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.

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

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

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

There is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?

The dew of compassion is a tear.

There is something pagan in me that I cannot shake off. In short, I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.

I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.

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.

In England the only homage which they pay to Virtue - is hypocrisy.

Smiles form the channels of a future tear.