The fate of love is that it always seems too little or too much.

This world is run with far too tight a rein for luck to interfere. Fortune sells her wares; she never gives them. In some form or other, we pay for her favors; or we go empty away.

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

In all troublous events we may find comfort, though it be only in the negative admission that things might have been worse.

the fruit of life is experience, not happiness.

When a man has calamity upon calamity the world generally concludes that he must be a very wicked man to deserve them. Perhaps the world is right; but it is also just possible that the world ... may be wrong.

Perhaps when the light of heaven shows us clearly the pitfalls and dangers of the earth road that led to the heavenly city, our sweetest songs of gratitude will be not for the troubles we have conquered, but for those we have escaped.