It is always the way of events in this life,...no sooner have you got settled in a pleasant resting place, than a voice calls out to you to rise and move on, for the hour of repose is expired.

What have I to do with millions [of people]? The eighty I know despise me.

You are human and fallible.

You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shall waken it.

It did not seem as if a prop were withdrawn, but rather as if a motive were gone: it was not the power to be tranquil which had failed me, but the reason for tranquility was no more.

Rapidly, merrily, Life's sunny hours flit by, Gratefully, cheerily Enjoy them as they fly!

Shake me off, then, sir--push me away; for I'll not leave you of my own accord.