The world ridicules a passion which it seldom feels; its scenes, and its interests, distract the mind, deprave the taste, corrupt the heart, and love cannot exist in a heart that has lost the meek dignity of innocence.

I wish that all those, who on this night are not merry enough to speak before they think, may ever after be grave enough to think before they speak!

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

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.

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

When one can hear people moving, one does not so much mind, about one's fears.

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