The sea-this truth must be confessed-has no generosity. No display of manly qualities-courage, hardihood, endurance, faithfulness-has ever been known to touch its irresponsible consciousness of power.

A ship in dock, surrounded by quays and the walls of warehouses, has the appearance of a prisoner meditating upon freedom in the sadness of a free spirit put under restraint.

Things and men have always a certain sense, a certain side by which they must be got hold of if one wants to obtain a solid grasp and a perfect command.

A belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.

The East Wind, an interloper in the dominions of Westerly Weather, is an impassive-faced tyrant with a sharp poniard held behind his back for a treacherous stab.

The Westerly Wind asserting his sway from the south-west quarter is often like a monarch gone mad, driving forth with wild imprecations the most faithful of his courtiers to shipwreck, disaster, and death.

A word carries far-very far-deals destruction through time as the bullets go flying through space.

Words, as is well known, are the great foes of reality.

In plucking the fruit of memory one runs the risk of spoiling its bloom, especially if it has got to be carried into the marketplace.

The mind of man is capable of anything because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future.