Centuries roll, customs change, but, ever since the time of the earliest mother, woman yearns to be the soother.

In beginning the world, if you don't wish to get chafed at every turn, fold up your pride carefully, put it under lock and key, and only let it out to air upon grand occasions. Pride is a garment all stiff brocade outside, all grating sackcloth on the side next to the skin.

Fate! There is no fate. Between the thought and the success God is the only agent. Fate is not the ruler, but the servant of Providence.

Thought is valuable in proportion as it is generative.

O woman! woman! thou shouldest have few sins of thine own to answer for! Thou art the author of such a book of follies in a man that it would need the tears of all the angels to blot the record out.

In how large a proportion of creatures is existence composed of one ruling passion, the most agonizing of all sensations--fear.

Expression is the mystery of beauty.