Little things seem nothing, but they give peace, like those meadow flowers which individually seem odorless but all together perfume the air.

What does the truth matter? Haven't we mothers all given our sons a taste for lies, lies which from the cradle upwards lull them, reassure them, send them to sleep: lies as soft and warm as a breast!

Who are you to condemn another's sin? He who condemns sin becomes part of it, espouses it.

It is the perpetual dread of fear, the fear of fear, that shapes the face of a brave man.

And now she was thinking of her own death, with her heart gripped not by fear but by the excitement of a great discovery, the feeling that she was about to learn what she had been unable to learn from her brief experience of love. What she thought about death was childish, but what could never have touched her in the past now filled her with poignant tenderness, as sometimes a familiar face we see suddenly with the eyes of love makes us aware that it has been dearer to us than life itself for longer than we have ever realized.