There Is Something Great And Terrible About

The Human Heart May Find Here And There A Resting-place Short Of The Highest Height Of Affection, But We Seldom Stop In The Steep, Downward Slope Of Hatred.

Many Of Us Marvel At The Icy Insensitivity With Which Women Snuff Out Their Armours. But If They Did Not Blot Out The Past In This Manner, Life For Them Would Lose All Dignity And They Could Never Resist The Fatal Familiarities To Which They Once Submitted.

Love Endows Us With A Sort Of Personal Religion; We Respect Another Live Within Ourselves.

Lofty Souls Are Always Inclined To Make A Virtue Of Misfortune.

Hatred Like Love Feeds On The Merest Trifles.