Of all the objects of hatred, a woman once loved is the most hateful. - Max Beerbohm

Everywhere he found his precept checkmated by his example.

For a young man, sleep is a sure solvent of distress. There whirls not for him in the night any so hideous phantasmagoria as will not become, in the clarity of the next morning, a spruce procession for him to lead. Brief the vague horror of his awakening; memory sweeps back to him, and he sees nothing dreadful after all. "Why not?" is the sun’s bright message to him, and "Why not indeed?" his answer.”

I have known no man of genius who had not to pay, in some affliction or defect either physical or spiritual, for what the gods had given him.