The finest language is mostly made up of simple unimposing words.

For what is love itself, for the one we love best? An enfolding of immeasurable cares which yet are better than any joys outside our love.

She thought it was part of the hardship of her life that there was laid upon her the burthen of larger wants than others seemed to feel – that she had to endure this wide hopeless yearning for that something, whatever it was, that was greatest and best on this earth.

Men and women are but children of a larger growth.

I know forgiveness is a man's duty, but, to my thinking, that can only mean as you're to give up all thoughts o' taking revenge: it can never mean as you're t' have your old feelings back again, for that's not possible.

The memory has as many moods as the temper, and shifts its scenery like a diorama.

The fact is, both callers and work thicken - the former sadly interfering with the latter.