Affection is the broadest basis of a good life.

That farewell kiss which resembles greeting, that last glance of love which becomes the sharpest pang of sorrow.

I had some ambition. I meant everything to be different with me. I thought I had more strength and mastery. But the most terrible obstacles are such as nobody can see except oneself.

Memory, when duly impregnated with ascertained facts, is sometimes surprisingly fertile.

It is a fact capable of amiable interpretation that ladies are not the worst disposed towards a new acquaintance of their own sex, because she has points of inferiority.

There is a sort of jealousy which needs very little fire; it is hardly a passion, but a blight bred in the cloudy, damp despondency of uneasy egoism.

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