Society never made the preposterous demand that a man should think as much about his own qualifications for making a charming girl happy as he thinks of hers for making himself happy.

Pride only helps us to be generous; it never makes us so, any more than vanity makes us witty.

Blameless people are always the most exasperating.

Her little butterfly soul fluttered incessantly between memory and dubious expectation.

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.

Love at its highest flood rushes beyond its object, and loses itself in the sense of divine mystery.

Where Jack isn't safe, Tom's in danger.