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Time is, time was, but time shall be no more.

The artist, like the God of creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails.

We are an unfortunate priest-ridden race and always were and always will be tell the end of the chapter.... A priest-ridden Godforsaken race.

Frequent and violent temptations were a proof that the citadel of the soul had not fallen and that the devil raged to make it fall.

When the soul of a man is born in this country there are nets flung at it to hold it back from flight. You talk to me of nationality, language, religion. I shall try to fly by those nets.

O, dread and dire word. Eternity! What mind of man can understand it?

In this life our sorrows are either not very long or not very great because nature either overcomes them by habits or puts an end to them by sinking under their weight. But in hell the torments cannot be overcome by habit, for while they are of terrible intensity they are at the same time of continual variety, each pain, so to speak, taking fire from another and re-endowing that which has enkindled it with a still fiercer flame.

Each lost soul will be a hell unto itself, the boundless fire raging in its very vitals.

Death, a cause of terror to the sinner, is a blessed moment for him who has walked in the right path.

Pity is the feeling which arrests the mind in the presence of whatsoever is grave and constant in human sufferings and unites it with the human sufferer.

Hell is the centre of evils and, as you know, things are more intense at their centres than at their remotest points.

Every physical quality admired by men in women is in direct connection with the manifold functions of women for the propagation of the species.

Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother's love is not.