I did not fall into love - I rose into love.

Tell me, sweet eyes, from what divinest star did ye drink in your liquid melancholy?

The heart of a man's like that delicate weed, / Which requires to be trampled on, boldly indeed / Ere it gives forth the fragrance you wish to extract.

The first essential to success in the art you practice is respect for the art itself.

Nothing can constitute good-breeding that has not good-nature for its foundation.

Nothing really immoral is ever permanently popular.

It is the glorious doom of literature that the evil perishes and the good remains. Even when the original author of some healthy and useful truth is forgotten, the truth survives, transplanted to works more calculated to purify it from error, and perpetuate it to our benefit.