“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.”
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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.
Women hate everything which strips off the tinsel of sentiment, and they are right, or it would rob them of their weapons.
I shall soon be six-and-twenty. Is there anything in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?
I slept and dreamt that life was beauty I woke and found that life was duty.