It is dismal coming home, when there is nobody to welcome one!

If the weak hand, that has recorded this tale, has, by its scenes, beguiled the mourner of one hour of sorrow, or, by its moral, taught him to sustain it - the effort, however humble, has not been vain, nor is the writer unrewarded.

When justice happens to oppose prejudice, we are apt to believe it virtuous to disobey her.

I tasted too what was called the sweet of revenge - but it was transient, it expired even with the object, that provoked it.

I never trust people's assertions, I always judge of them by their actions.

Fate sits on these dark battlements and frowns, And as the portal opens to receive me, A voice in hollow murmurs through the courts Tells of a nameless deed.

How despicable is that humanity, which can be contented to pity, where it might assuage!