It Is A Singular Fact

The Glutton Is Much More Than An Animal And Much Less Than A Man.

But Reason Always Cuts A Poor Figure Beside Sentiment; The One Being Essentially Restricted, Like Everything That Is Positive, While The Other Is Infinite.

In The Silence Of Their Studios, Busied For Days At A Time With Works Which Leave The Mind Relatively Free, Painters Become Like Women; Their Thoughts Can Revolve Around The Minor Facts Of Life And Penetrate Their Hidden Meaning.

Old Maids, Having Never Bent Their Temper Or Their Lives To Other Lives And Other Tempers, As Woman's Destiny Requires, Have For The Most Part A Mania For Making Everything About Them Bend To Them.

Nowhere But In France Are People So Strictly Observant Of Great Matters And So Disdainfully Indulgent About Small Ones.