But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.

Many an irritating fault, many an unlovely oddity, has come of a hard sorrow.

Her own misery filled her heart—there was no room in it for other people's sorrow.

Eros has degenerated; he began by introducing order and harmony, and now he brings back chaos.

Particular lies may speak a general truth.

What novelty is worth that sweet monotony where everything is known, and loved because it is known?

The commonest man, who has his ounce of sense and feeling, is conscious of the difference between a lovely, delicate woman and a coarse one. Even a dog feels a difference in her presence.