... how poorly do we love even those whom we love most! We are not only bruised by the limitations of their love for us, but also by the limitations of our own love for them.

Injustice is a sixth sense, and rouses all the others.

Kindness is always fashionable.

But what do we know of the heart nearest to our own? What do we know of our own heart?

Love, like destiny, loves surprises.

It is little men know of women; their smiles and their tears alike are seldom what they seem.

I have seen that every one forgives much in themselves that they find unpardonable in other people.