You, Jane, I must have you for my own--entirely my own.

As far as my experience of matrimony goes -- I think it tends to draw you out of, and away from yourself.

I thought I loved him when he went away; I love him now in another degree: he is more my own. [ . . . ] Oh! a thousand weepers, praying in agony on waiting shores, listened for that voice, but it was not uttered--not uttered till; when the hush came, some could not feel it: till, when the sun returned, his light was night to some!

Do you like him much?' I told you I liked him a little. Where is the use of caring for him so very much: he is full of faults.' Is he?' All boys are.

Reserved people often really need the frank discussion of their sentiments and griefs more than the expansive. The sternest-seeming stoic is human after all, and to burst with boldness and good-will into the silent sea of their souls is often to confer on them the first of obligations.

That to begin with; let respect be the foundation, affection the first floor, love the superstructure.

The trouble is not that I am single and likely to stay single, but that I am lonely and likely to stay lonely.