... it is because sympathy is but a living again through our own past in a new form, that confession often prompts a response of confession.

We are led on, like little children, by a way we know not.

I would not creep along the coast but steer Out in mid-sea, by guidance of the stars.

It is a wonderful subduer-this need of love, this hunger of the heart.

It so often happens that others are measuring us by our past self while we are looking back on that self with a mixture of disgust and sorrow.

My books don't seem to belong to me after I have once written them; and I find myself delivering opinions about them as if I had nothing to do with them.

The happiest women, like the happiest nations, have no history.