It Is The Vice Of A Vulgar

For You Cannot Have Gentility Without Paying For It.

When Love Flies It Is Remembered Not As Love But As Something Else.

History Develops, Art Stands Still.

It Is Now Only In Letters I Write What I Feel: Not In Literature Any More, And I Seldom Say It, Because I Keep Trying To Be Amusing.

It Is The Vice Of A Vulgar Mind To Be Thrilled By Bigness, To Think That A Thousand Square Miles Are A Thousand Times More Wonderful Than One Square Mile, And That A Million Square Miles Are Almost The Same As Heaven.