He simply felt that if he could carry away the vision of the spot of earth she walked on, and the way the sky and sea enclosed it, the rest of the world might seem less empty.

The true felicity of a lover of books is the luxurious turning of page by page, the surrender, not meanly abject, but deliberate and cautious, with your wits about you, as you deliver yourself into the keeping of the book. This I call reading.

I feel as if I could trust my happiness to carry me; as if it had grown out of me like wings.

It must be less wicked to love the wrong person than not to love anybody at all.

Think what stupid things the people must have done with their money who say they're 'happier without'.

Nothing is more perplexing to a man than the mental process of a woman who reasons her emotions.

To have you here, you mean-in reach and yet out of reach? To meet you in this way, on the sly? It's the very reverse of what I want.