I protest against any absolute conclusion.

There is a sort of subjection which is the peculiar heritage of largeness and of love; and strength is often only another name for willing bondage to irremediable weakness.

Man cannot choose his duties.

Souls live on in perpetual echoes.

It is a common enough case, that of a man being suddenly captivated by a woman nearly the opposite of his ideal.

Family likeness has often a deep sadness in it. Nature, that great tragic dramatist, knits us together by bone and muscle, and divides us by the subtler web of our brains; blends yearning and repulsion; and ties us by our heart-strings to the beings that jar us at every movement.

... in no part of the world is genteel visiting founded on esteem, in the absence of suitable furniture and complete dinner-service.