Oh, I am not going to die, am I? He will not separate us, we have been so happy.

Writers cannot choose their own mood: with them it is not always hide-tide, nor --thank Heaven!--always Storm.

The human heart has hidden treasures, In secret kept, in silence sealed.

It is far better to endure patiently a smart which nobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty action whose evil consequences will extend to all connected with you.

Tact, if it be genuine, never sleeps.

I Believe she thought I had forgotten my station; and yours, sir.' 'Station! Station!-- your station is in my heart, and on the necks of those who would insult you, now or hereafter.

To you I am neither man nor woman. I come before you as an author only.