My wretched feet, flayed and swollen to lameness by the sharp air of January, began to heal and subside under the gentler breathings of April; the nights and mornings no longer by their Canadian temperature froze the very blood in our veins; we could now endure the play-hour passed in the garden.

While I loved, and while I was loved, what an existence I enjoyed!

Jane Austin was a complete and most sensible lady, but a very incomplete and rather insensible (not senseless) woman. If this is heresy, I cannot help it.

What necessity is there to dwell on the Past, when the Present is so much surer-the Future so much brighter?

Peril, loneliness, an uncertain future, are not oppressive evils, so long as the frame is healthy and the faculties are employed; so long, especially, as Liberty lends us her wings, and Hope guides us by her star.

I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.

The word book acted as a transient stimulus