Daughter, I have now lived a hundred and nine winters in this world and have never yet met any such thing as Luck. There is something about all this that I do not understand: but if ever we need to know it, you may be sure that we shall.
To love at all is to be vulnerable.
Sexual appetite, like any other appetite, grows by indulgence
Am I lost or just less found?
The moment good taste knows itself, some of its goodness is lost.
We delight to praise what we enjoy because the praise not merely expresses but completes the enjoyment; it is its appointed consummation. It is not out of compliment that lovers keep on telling one another how beautiful they are; the delight is incomplete till it is expressed.