as much good-will may be conveyed in one hearty word as in many.

You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all; you are a mere dream

Feeling without judgement is a washy draught indeed; but judgement untempered by feeling is too bitter and husky a morsel for human deglutition.

You — you strange — you almost unearthly thing! — I love as my own flesh. You — poor and obscure, and small and plain as you are — I entreat to accept me as a husband.

If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed.

I try to avoid looking forward or backward, and try to keep looking upward.

And with that answer, he left me. I would much rather he had knocked me down.