Ouida

Brussels is a gay little city that lies as bright within its girdle of woodland as any butterfly that rests upon moss.

When one has not father, or mother, or brother, and all one's friends have barely bread enough for themselves, life cannot be very easy, nor its crusts very many at any time.

What use was it to argue with a little idiot like this? Indeed, peasants never do argue; they use abuse.

It is the trifles of life that are its bores, after all.

Take hope from the heart of man and you make him a beast of prey.

Even of death Christianity has made a terror which was unknown to the gay calmness of the Pagan and the stoical repose of the Indian.